The Sparrow and the Sniper
by Dovely
Summary: New Vegas may be a glittering peacock, but it's a little Sparrow who will change its future.  F Courier/Craig Boone.
1. Chapter 1

_Mild mannered lab tech by day, savior (or not) of the Wasteland by night. I fully embrace my dorkiness and embrace the RP elements of games far too much. And thus, a FONV fanfic. I can't promise how often I'll update or length of chapters (my work schedule and thus free-time varies week to week), but here you go. My Courier is, of course, female, and her name is Sparrow. When Boone became her companion, I instantly fell in love- instead of the noncommunicative Charon or irritating Butch, here was a character that evolved throughout the game… and was a better at distant head shots than me. Fantastic! I hope you enjoy… and yes, I'll take liberties with some of the speech, especially since I'm still on my first play through!_

_Note: Constructive criticism is fantastic. _

_Note 2: I can't abide grammatical errors (accidental ones anyway), so there may be resubmitted chapters every now and then as I catch something on a read-through.  
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The first time Boone saw her, it was through the scope of his rifle. It wasn't that he was taking aim, but it was late at night, and he was startled out of his inward reverie by the light sound of crunching asphalt. It wasn't so much that there _was_ a sound, as it was purposefully directional, and it was coming from the other side of his perch, on the road from Nipton. He couldn't see the walker yet, but he could tell it was someone light, and from the hesitation in the footfalls, cautious. He swung his rifle around to the furthest left sight he had, and the walker came into view. It was a woman and she was indeed light, with tanned skin and short hair that appeared silver in the moonlight, but was probably just mousy brown under the truth of the sun.

He watched her stop and look around, towards the houses and then back towards the motel. When she looked up at the dinosaur, her eyes unknowingly met his straight on. He never blinked, just watched her, and in a few moments she moved back out of his line of sight, and he heard the motel lobby door open and close. He returned his attention to the eastern Wasteland and didn't think anymore about her.

* * *

The next night he was on duty, he saw her again. This time she was headed towards the old McBride place. He was about to look away again when he saw her pull her rifle out and sneak towards the brahmin pen. He wondered what was going on, when he heard the muffled sound of a minigun; a late night occurrence that bemused him but didn't worry him since it never killed anything but the brahmin. There was a sudden crack in the air from her rifle, and he watched as she stood up, unholstered a pistol, and started running out of his line of sight like a bat out of hell. There were several more loud cracks, and he saw her back pedaling. What followed her was something he'd never seen before but had heard about- a big blue mutie. He took aim, ready to destroy the creature, when the girl leaped forward and fired her pistol at the creature's head at point-blank range. The creature fell backwards and landed with a thud. She stood there for a few seconds- he guessed she was catching her breath- and then, pistol still aimed at its head, kicked the body a few times. He heard her vivid cursing, muted by her distance from him, and chuckled softly, watching her as she nudged the creature softly and then glared and kicked it as hard she could; she looked like a little child throwing a temper tantrum. Then the moment was gone, and reality came back along with all the hateful memories, and he resolutely returned to his task, unaccountably angry at the childish girl who had distracted him from so many things. He heard her moving, but refused to look back or even think about her.

Perhaps it was because he was so focused on ignoring her that he didn't hear the soft thud of the gift shop opening. Or footsteps on the stairs behind him. When the door behind him opened, he swung around with his rifle, pulse jumping, and realized he wasn't aiming at a raider, but instead the girl, whose eyes widened at the long barrel pointed straight at her. Her shock lasted only a moment, and then her gaze went past the gun and to his face, and the only sign of her discomfort and shock were slightly parted lips. He evaluated her unemotionally: fairly tall with tan skin, brown hair like he'd thought, pale eyes with long eyelashes, full and vulnerable lips, pert nose, and a slight but attractively curvy build. She was also young, younger than he'd thought, and he put her age at nothing over 23. Her looks and age seemed incongruous with the leather armor she wore like it was a part of herself, and if he hadn't seen her nerve in fighting the brahmin creature, he would have underestimated her skill with the 10mm holstered at her hip.

A second passed in silence before he inwardly shook himself and spoke to her in a gruff voice.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me. I could kill you."

She blinked, then unexpectedly laughed, a rough bark that sounded like it didn't happen often, surprising him.

"Sorry. Usually it's the other way around; if I sneak, I don't get killed."

He grunted, unsure of how to respond, or even if wanted to respond. She acknowledged his silence, but continued.

"You are Boone, correct? Manny said you worked here nights."

He almost growled, but controlled himself, and nodded tersely. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "What were you looking for?"

"It doesn't concern you," he replied tensely. "You should leave now."

"Just making friendly conversation."

"I don't have friends here."

"Good thing I'm not from here then."

Boone paused, wanting to insult her simplistic logic, but just maybe… "Maybe you shouldn't go just yet."

"Oh?"

"I need someone to trust. You're a stranger, so that's a start."

"Interesting idea, only trusting strangers. Why?"

"I want you to find something for me. I don't know if there is anything to find, but I need someone to try. Someone who isn't connected to this town."

"Again, why?"

"My wife disappeared one night while I was on watch." Boone stopped himself from showing any emotion. Emotions wouldn't help; grief wouldn't help. Only vengeance.

"Do you know what happened? Where she could have gone?" the girl asked, sounding a little bemused.

"She did not go anywhere. She was taken."

"What do you mean?"

"Legion slavers came and captured her."

"Oh." The girl's expression changed minutely, just enough for him to catch a thinning of her lips, clenching of her jaw. Her voice, however, didn't belie her change in expression and boone wondered a little at it. "I'm sorry. Have you tried to rescue her?"

"She's dead now."

The girl paused, looking at him, and he wondered why she cared. Or even why he was telling her. He expected her to ask him how he knew, or if he was sure, but instead she surprised him by merely nodding. And he hadn't really planned to ask her, but she was new in town, and as she look out over the Wasteland next to him, he made the sudden decision to involve her.

"They took Carla, but no one else. They knew what routes to take and what time to come. That means someone in town invited them in. And I want to know who."

She looked at him, expressionless, and just nodded again. He found himself waiting for her reply, maybe even hoping-

"What do you want me to do?"

He wondered at her ready volunteering, but didn't want to ask. Every man, or woman in this case, has their own agenda. And right now, this odd girl's was in line with his. And so he told her his plan, and when she left with his beret, he felt more alive than he had in a while.

* * *

The fourth night, he looked out for her. He couldn't sleep much earlier in the day; he couldn't explain his faith in the girl, but he felt a deep anticipation. He simply _knew_ she would find the person who had destroyed his wife, the same way he just _knew_ when a gust of wind was going to come and change a bullet's trajectory and how to compensate for it. And so he wasn't surprised when he saw her leading a one Jeannie May Crawford to a rock outcropping, straight into his line of sight. After the girl put his beret on, standing a respectable 10 feet or so away from the Crawford woman, he savoured the moment for a few seconds. _This is for you, Carla._

The girl was just out of the splash range, and he didn't turn around when he heard her come up into the dinosaur a few minutes later. When she handed him the trade receipt as evidence of Crawford's crimes, he read it and then balled it up, staring out across the Wastes.

"What will you do now?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. I can't stay here anymore. "

"You could come with me."

He turned to look at her then, to evaluate her seriousness. She was looking at him, no emotions on her face to show what she was thinking. And without knowing why, he decided to test her resolve.

"I find Legion soldiers, I kill them. Doesn't matter where or when. They wear crimson: they're dead."

"I understand."

He glared at her for a few moments, then nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay indeed. I've got a room in the motel- you can take the sofa- and we'll wait till morning, then go run some ghouls off. Once that's done… well. We'll see what our next move is then."

She turned to leave, hand on the door, and he realized he didn't know a lot of things. Like how she had the nerve to fire a pistol at a creature three times bigger than her, why she would kick said blue nasty like a child, why she didn't care about shooting Legion soldiers, why she wanted him traveling with her, or even why she was traveling the Mojave Wasteland. Most of those would be found in time, and others, like killing the Legion, he didn't care about reasons. But he found one question to ask her.

"You know who I am. Who are you?"

She looked over her shoulder, and then for the first time he'd seen yet, she smiled. It lit up her face, showing her youth, and he decided that maybe she wasn't long out of being a teenager after all.

"Sparrow. My name is Sparrow. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Boone."

And then she was out the door, and he had to follow her, since he realized she hadn't told him exactly which room was theirs.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the initial interest! I'm quite pleased to know I've hit a fan-niche. I'll work on longer chapters, but that's not really my writing style, so no promises. But I will try!_

_Note: Changed the rating from T to M. Yay?_

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As Sparrow stood, looking at the body of Jeannie May, she tried not to double check herself for bloodstains. It wasn't that she was particularly squeamish- you couldn't be when you roamed the Wasteland- but still. She was still somewhat new to the cold and calculating violence that the sniper dealt in. She paused, looking at the woman's head and couldn't help but think back to a few months ago; was that how she had looked, after the man in the checkered coat had shot her? No, stupid thought, that was a pistol at point blank, not an aimed sniper shot with a rifle.

She fought back the urge to look up to the mouth of the dinosaur; she knew she couldn't see Boone, but was extremely aware that he could see her. Instead, she took off his beret, ran a hand through her short and tangled hair, and walked out of his line of sight. Before she went up to see him, she knew she had to collect herself- no weakness must show. Not anymore. And so she leaned against the stairs, focusing on controlling her breathing while she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, closing her eyes as she took a long, calming drag.

* * *

_She had just arrived at Nipton, which was abandoned, or so she first thought. A pained groan startled her into looking up- there were several men, all in the uniform of powder gangers, hung up on crude beams of wood. She didn't particularly like the gang and had even killed a few, but she understood their philosophy of survival, and she didn't see how they'd done something to deserve this kind of punishment. Ghost, the ranger at the Mojave Outpost, had been worried that something had happened, but this… no one could have predicted this._

_She walked along the road slowly, pistol out, when movement caught her eye- people coming out of the town square, clothed in crimson. Her Pip-Boy didn't show them as hostile, but she kept her gun at the ready, ever cautious. They waited for her, and as she neared, she realized that these must be members of the infamous Legion._

_When the leader, a condescending elitist who called himself Vulpes Inculta, spoke, she found herself becoming more angry. The entire town, the gangers, the NCR… all those people. Gone. Tortured. Played with. She was numb with it, this mix of anger and shock, and barely heard the bastard invite her to attack them if she truly thought it horrendous. She didn't recover until the men began to walk away. Without thinking, she raised her pistol and fired; it was pure luck that it hit one of the recruits in the leg. There was a split second of silence, the world frozen, and then all hell broke loose. She dove against the side of the nearest house, taking cover, and tried to remain calm, keep her hands steady. She had time for one crystal clear thought "I am a supremely stupid person," before the Legion mongrels were flying around the corner of the house. They managed a few bites before she took them out, and then the recruits were on her. She managed, barely, to deal with them, but was aware their leader had not joined in the fray. Trying to ignore the blood dripping down her arm and making her hands slick, she looked around the corner. Vulpes Inculta was just outside of town, watching her, far out of range of her 10mm. Before she could pull out her rifle, he did something that looked suspiciously like a salute, and walked over the hill and out of sight. Sudden weariness overcame her and she slid down against the wall, and it took a moment for it to register that her Pip-Boy was screaming at her because she was about to bleed out. Shaking but lethargic, she pulled out a couple of stimpacks. Unfortunately, as her body began to heal, the pain came in full force, and with a small cry she fell into black unconsciousness. The last thing she saw against the darkness was the outline of Vulpes, arm raised out towards her, with his palm facing down.  
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_When she woke up, dawn was breaking; she'd been out for several hours, enough time for the bleeding to heal and the flesh to knit some, so that the wound was a just a raw scab. Biting back a whimper, she got up and scavenged the bodies of the Legion recruits for anything useful. Then she walked back to the road; some of the gangers had died, but most were still alive, barely conscious and moaning softly. She loaded her gun and aimed at the closest ganger's forehead, right between the eyes._

"_May I find forgiveness for my deeds," she murmured softly, then squeezed the trigger gently. The bullet landed right where it was supposed to, the shot deafening in the silent town, and the man slumped forward on the cross. Mechanically, she moved to the next ganger, and then the next, and the next, until they were all dead. Then, calmly, she holstered her weapon, made her way to the side of the street, and vomited up everything in her stomach until it was just dry heaves. It wasn't that she hadn't killed; even before, she'd had to defend herself to the death. But this, this was different. This was an execution, and maybe it was for the better, to end their suffering, but she was still executioner. The vision of a man in a checkered suit swam before her eyes, and she realized that she too had tried to meet each ganger's eyes before she'd shot them._

_Recovered, she took out a bottle of water, taking a mouthful to clean out her mouth and spit on the ground, and drinking the rest. Her stomach calmed, and the bad taste out of her mouth, she went through each house in the town, looking for survivors. There were none, bar one ganger who had been crippled from the waist down, who she gave a couple doses of Med-X to, and who in turn told her more about the perverted lottery the Legion had run.  
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_Eventually, she went to the large building that served as the town hall, trying to ignore the smoldering bonfire made of bodies and the coldness in her soul. It wasn't until she opened the door and was promptly attacked by more mongrels that she realized she hadn't even gotten her pistol ready. Cursing, she fell back and desperately fumbled while trying to draw her gun. Finally, in what seemed like ages but was really only a couple of seconds, she rolled away from the dogs, pulling her gun, and shooting. The mutts went down, and she was surprised to find that she hadn't been injured in the chaos with anything than a few scratches. Muttering to herself, she rounded the corner, stepped over a corpse, and barely jumped away in time when she heard the ticking of a frag mine._

"_Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck."_

_She drew in a deep breath, trying not to gag as bits of… person… fell off of her. She spoke, the volume of her voice rising as she got more upset._

"_Fucking bastards. Hope they rot in hell. Who the hell hides frags under bodies? Who the HELL!"_

_Aware that she was screaming to no one except a house full of dead bodies and whatever else the Legion left, she forced herself back under control. Breathing hard, but otherwise calm (at least outwardly), she went through and did a check of the entire house, being especially careful around any bodies. She found a few more mongrels and dealt with them, this time ready. And then, in the last room, she found something that made her string together more creative cursing, and she threw a book against a wall._

"_What kind of idiot makes a deal with the Legion? Sure, let's start by playing off two factions that hate each other and really get pissed off if you fuck with them. And then, why not make a deal with another faction, one that takes fucking slaves, to sell them out? Oh yea, great scheme, worked out really well for you, didn't it, Mr. Mayor. You're living it up now, huh? Dead and rotting on the floor."_

_She kicked the Mayor's body, knowing her anger was futile, and not even sure who she was more angry at. The mayor, for trying to play all sides? The NCR and the gangers for being so easily played? Or the Legion, for being so merciless. She could understand all sides, and that bothered her. She sighed deeply, kicked the body one more time, and then stalked out of the building and returned to Primm. By the time she gave her report to Ghost, she was calm and collected again. Still, when she fell into bed, right before she went into an exhausted sleep, she found herself thinking replaying the scenes at Nipton; she was bothered not only due to its deplorable end, but also because, in a small way, she agreed with Legion's sense of loyalty if not their idea of justice; it worried her, being able to see the meaning behind their murders, and she hated the faction all the more for the additional complications in her own personal moral code that seemed to be getting less black and white every day._

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"Ouch! Shit!"

Sparrow dropped the cigarette, now just glowing ash, and muffled her curses by sticking her fingers in her mouth and sucking on them. She'd managed to not pay attention- _again_- and had burnt her hand by pulling on a too-short butt. Coughing- she'd managed to get ash into her lungs as well- she pushed open the door to the dinosaur and hoped that the sniper wouldn't be able to tell she was in a foul mood; she highly doubted that the death of that Jeannie bitch would have helped him any, and he didn't need her anger or grief to deal with, if he'd even care. She firmly decided not to explore why _she_ cared about what he thought, felt, or was going to do next. Wasteland wasn't a place to care, she told herself, and if you had to care, you'd better keep it under wraps. And so, when she found herself asking Boone nonchalantly what he'd do next, she was as surprised as he was at her offer of companionship. And as she led the way to the motel, she wondered at how she'd laughed at the utter absurdity of the sniper agreeing to join her without even knowing her name; she hadn't felt unadulterated laughter since… well. Best not to think about that one either.

When they got to the hotel room, she tossed him a pillow and blanket, kicked off her boots, and began to pull off her top- she'd decided to forgo the armor earlier, figuring she wouldn't be getting into a fire fight, and worn some plain fatigues instead- she heard Boone cough pointedly.

She flushed, and said with all the quiet dignity she could muster, "I know there wasn't any blood on me, but I'd still like to be clean just in case. There's a tub in the bathroom."

She heard him clear his throat and then blushed more with his reply, "That's fine. But you don't need to undress out here."

Unaccountably furious, all thoughts of dignity flood. She spun around, her shirt clutched in her hand, wearing only her pants and undershirt, and glared at the sniper.

"It's not like you're seeing anything; I bet whores on the strip wear less. If we're going to be traveling together, you might as well get used to your _precious_ eyes seeing some skin because I like to be clean. Especially from blood, gore, slime, and other bodily fluids. Got it? If this is a deal breaker, you might as well go fuck yourself in a lonely corner somewhere!"

Boone merely gazed at her, and she glared back, daring him to leave. Sure, maybe she was overreacting, but hell! She was wearing shorts and an undershirt, and damn if she wasn't going to act just how she pleased in her own place. She opened her mouth for another angry retort when he shrugged and shut her up with a simple question.

"Why did you kick that mutant who was killing the brahmin? After you knew he was dead?"

Taken completely off guard, she decided that she must be bright red by now. She remembered that, but hadn't realized anyone had been watching, though now it didn't surprise her that Boone had seen it all. She had been incredibly surprised when she'd hit a blurry spot where the gunfire was coming from and a huge blue mutant had appeared, and she'd been outraged when it turned the minigun on her. It had been pure adrenaline and agility that had gotten her out of that mess, and she'd been silently cursing the thing for being so much bigger than she'd expected. And so, when it was dead, she had kicked a little harder than necessary to check if it was staying dead. And she'd stubbed her toe when she'd hit a hard part of its armor, so she'd kicked even harder, venting her frustrations about the entire situation in general.

Boone cleared his throat again, and she realized she'd been staring at him silently, but had no idea for how long.

"Oh. Um. I was angry?"

Sparrow hadn't thought she could get more red, but she was wrong. All temper vanished from her with Boone's quiet look, which made her feel like she was 12 and had gotten caught with her hand in a pocket, that went along with his simple response of, "I see."

"I'm sorry for yelling at you. It's… been a long few days. I'll be better after I'm sure I don't have bits stuck to me and some sleep. Please don't feel like you have to leave." She scuffed the floor with her bare-feet, not sure why she didn't want him go, feeling a mix of trepidation and embarrassment. "I'm not usually like this."

Boone merely nodded, then turned his back to her and began to divest himself of his own armor. Before she closed the door to the bathroom, she heard the sofa springs creak as he settled in for the night. And if a few tears dropped into her bathwater while she was wondering at her own impulsive behavior and how he must feel about her now, well, she was just overtired, right? It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact she was heartrendingly lonely.


	3. Chapter 3

_Yay! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this. I'm not playing as much as I'd like due to work and other busyness, but that means I just daydream more. I'm thinking about holding the game hostage until I write enough chapters to where I'm mostly caught up with where I am in FONV. Which will take a while if there's more chapters like this one._

_This chapter took some thought. I'm a coffee addict and can't imagine not drinking coffee, and FO has the coffee pots and mugs, so… But then, how to make the coffee? Well, the pots in-game look like cafetieres (French presses). And I'm taking a liberty with the yard campfire, but really, there's no damn stove._

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Boone turned his back on her and pulled off his shirt; if modesty wasn't important to the girl, why should he care? It certainly wasn't as if anything would happen. Still, he didn't relax until she went into the bathroom and heard the water running. Sighing, he lay down on the sofa, wincing as the long unused springs creaked and moaned under his weight. Without consciously trying, he listened for sounds, and heard the little splashes the girl made as she moved around in the bath. He shook his head before any image could appear- not that it would, but he'd rather not even invite temptation- and took once last look around the room. It was much like his, except it already had a feel of being lived-in, perhaps was even beginning to become "cozy," and he had to snort when he saw an old teddy bear on the bed. Relaxing for the first time in a while, knowing that the room was secure, he allowed himself to close his eyes and was drifting asleep before the girl was done bathing. He woke up when she came out and listened to her move around, and managed not to smirk when she ran into something and let loose with a string of quiet curses. He knew she was trying to be silent for his sake because she thought he was asleep, and he was somewhat amused that she thought she could sneak around a sniper. It wasn't until he heard the soft whisper of sheets when she got into bed and until her breathing became even, that he fell into a real sleep.

It was just past dawn when they both woke up. He was just waking up when he heard her sit up, and looked over in time to see her stretch. The light was dim, but he could make out her silhouette as she raised her arms, fingers outstretched. Abruptly, she rolled out of bed, somehow landing on her feet, pulled on fatigues, and padded towards the kitchen area. He watched her as she grabbed a large pot, rummaged in a drawer for a bag, and then walked back over to the door. Before opening it, she looked over at him, and he nodded by way of a greeting. He was mildly surprised when she merely nodded in return before leaving the room. Nevertheless, grateful for some privacy- to think he'd gotten used to solitude since Carla had been… no, let's not continue that train of thought.

Splashing water on his face from the sink, he heard the door open again. He finished what he was doing and then went out to the main room. The girl was pouring a dark liquid into two mugs-

"You made _coffee_?"

She looked up at him from beneath a mop of tangled hair and nodded. "My mood's about on par with a rabid brahmin's until I have at least one cup, and there's a campfire out in the yard. And I figured you might like a cup too."

Boone blinked. He hadn't had coffee in the mornings since he'd left the NCR. It had been a morning/night ritual for First Recon- the snipers would gather around the fire or stove, using the time as a kind of break to catch up on news or to just talk shit. He realized, looking at the girl (who was now sipping at her chipped mug with a kind of bliss on her face, eyes half closed), that she had surprised him again. As he was looking at her, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Something wrong? You don't have to drink it if you don't want it. More for me."

"No. I just didn't know many people outside of the NCR drank coffee," Boone replied, picking up the steaming cup. Before tasting it, he savored the aroma, unaware his expression mirrored the one Sparrow had had only a few moments before.

"Yea. I never touched it until I started working for the Express. There, it just sort of became a ritual- you'd have a cup, meet with the other couriers if there were any around, go over your next assignment, and so on. Soon enough, I was hooked."

He'd been watching her, and this time it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. She mistook his look and got defensive.

"Hey, it's not like it's Jet or Psycho or something. It's just a drink. I can and do go without, I just get a headache and am in a bad mood for the day. And if you can't find clean water, the taste distracts from the radiation." Her eyes narrowed over the rim of her cup, which was now cradled between her hands.

"I understand. I enjoy the drink as well," Boone replied, his tone mild. He wondered if she would always jump down his throat for anything he'd say.

"Oh. Right. Um. Good. I have a smaller pot I put in my pack when I'm traveling." She smiled sheepishly, and he was amused when she raised her mug again only to realize that it was empty.

"Oh hey, do you want some food?" She set the empty cup down, walked over to the fridge and opened it, peering inside. "I usually only have an apple or something in the mornings, but there's some other stuff, like cram and stew. Or pork and beans, I always seem to end up with lots of pork and beans." With this last bit, her voice became petulant, as if the offending food had done her a disservice. When she looked over her shoulder at him, he realized that she was waiting on an answer- he'd been too long without company, and compared to his usual quiet solitude, she was going a mile a minute.

"Some stew and an apple, if you have a spare, would work."

"Sure thing. Jea… some stew was left here yesterday evening, so it should still be good. And I always stock up on apples when I find them." She brought him some squirrel stew and a fork, and then dug around in her pack, coming up with two slightly bruised but otherwise intact apples. She tossed one to him and then sprawled down in a chair while biting into the other one.

He stirred the stew, distracted, before he remembered what she had said that had caught his attention before. "You said you worked for 'the Express.' Do you mean the Mojave Express?"

Unfortunately, he hadn't paid attention to her, and he realized that her mouth had been full of food when he asked the question. He refilled her cup with what remained in the pot, and waited patiently for her coughing to die down. She took the cup gratefully, her eyes watering, and took a deep swallow. Clearing her throat, she finally managed to get enough air into her lungs to answer his question. "Yea. Sorry. I was a courier with the Mojave Express not too long ago."

"That's an interesting job for someone like you to take."

"Heh. Someone like me?" For once she didn't sound defensive, just curious.

"I meant, a young woman."

"Oh, that. Well, I left home a few years ago with a medium-sized water caravan; got hired on as a watch and sometime guard. I hadn't really figured out what I was going to do once the caravan got where it was headed, and so I just stuck with them for a few runs. Eventually we got hit by raiders pretty hard- a few guards died, lot of goods were taken- and the trader decided to sell out. He was real nice though and told me that if I still had wanderlust, to check out being a courier. He vouched for me and everything, gave me references. And I liked it well enough- I got to see a lot of places and meet a lot of people, and the Express HQ over in California was more like a family than I ever had before. When they asked for volunteers for the Mojave branch, I jumped on it. Further away from home, the better." As she'd been talking, her voice had become more distant and soft, as one gets when thinking about memories that aren't horrible. Boone took note that her voice hardened a little whenever she mentioned 'home,' but that she spoke of the Express with fondness. And he noticed how she straightened up, startled out of her own reverie, before saying in an irate tone, "And I'm not that young. I'm 22."

Boone nodded, allowing her to sip her coffee before asking another question. "Where are you from?"

She sighed and took a bite out of her apple, chewing thoughtfully before replying. "New Reno. Not a good place for most kids, and worse if you don't have parents. I guess I can't be too harsh on it; I learned to fight and survive a city there. Hated it though- I hated all the people, acting like they were important and fancy, when really it was just a dolled-up cesspit. I got out of there when I was 15; I'd heard one of the john's I did errands for talk about how'd I'd caught the eye of one of the Mordino boys, and I knew if I ever wanted to be anything other than a prostitute, I needed to get out of the city. Now, I'd spent my entire life there, and I didn't know one thing about surviving out in the Wasteland, and I was smart enough to realize it wasn't going to be like the city alleys. And so I scraped together some patchwork armor, stole a rusty old 9mm, and walked straight up to the next caravan that came into town. And promptly got laughed away."

Boone finished his coffee, intrigued despite himself. "You said you got hired on with the caravan."

"Yea, I did, but not that one. I crawled into my hideyhole and nursed my wounded pride. The other kids laughed at me too, said I wasn't good for anything but laying on my back once I hit adulthood. And within a week, I was the laughingstock of New Reno. I couldn't take anymore, between the laughing and the knowledge that I was going to be locked up in a room, and so the night before I turned 15, I ran off. I made it about half a mile out before I almost stepped on a radscorpion. It was pure luck that it was a small one and more luck that I didn't die, and I managed to kill it just as a scout for one of the water traders came by. She came over- the first time I'd seen a woman in the role of anything but whore or addict- introduced herself, asked if she could have the venom sac, and quickly realized I had no clue what she was talking about. I think she figured it was akin to murder if she left me out there, so she took me back to where the caravan was camped. The head trader made me tell him the whole story, and I guess he was impressed- here I was, a skinny little scrap of a girl, dirt and blood on my face, with a rusty gun on my hip- and he offered to let me travel with them to their next stop, the Den, for free if I helped scout. Of course, I said yes. Rashel, the scout who had found me, took me under her wing and taught me everything she could. By the time we reached the Den, I was pretty comfortable with traveling and had even helped take down some geckos for food. Still though, I don't think they would have kept me on if the trader hadn't had a parcel- his trading list- stolen from him. I saw and took after the thief- it was a smaller town than New Reno but the alleys were the same, and I caught the kid easily enough. When I returned with the papers, they realized I could be useful, and I was offered a gig- I'd continue to travel with them, only I'd be outfitted by them, represent them, and get a small bit of pay. It was the best thing in the world that could have happened to me, and I stayed with the caravan for the next few years, traveling around California. And then…"

She set her cup down, now empty, and stood up. A stray ray of sunlight poured through the window and lit her up with bright gold, masking the expression of bitterness that suddenly crossed her face.

"Look, it's almost full daylight. We should get going. I prefer to travel in the mornings and evenings, finding shelter in the midday. Sun's brutal if you're not careful, and it doesn't exactly help keep you hidden from baddies that want to kill you." And with that, she went over to the cabinet and pulled out the leather armor he'd first seen her in. He barely had time to turn his back before he heard the unmistakable sound of pants hitting the floor, and he didn't face forward again until he heard straps being buckled.

* * *

They had been walking down the road for a while, Novac fading into the horizon behind them, when Boone realized he was getting his first good look at the girl. Lit by the morning sun, she was lean, and her finger-combed brown hair, tied back in a bandanna, was shown not to be mousy, but instead to have glints and shimmers of different shades, from pale blond to dark brown. She had long legs and took long steps; he matched her pace fairly easily due to his larger size, but still felt a burn that came from spending too long cooped up in a nest. They traveled at a relatively fast pace in silence, with her pistol in her hand, ready, and his rifle on his back, easy to get to in a hurry. She walked ahead of him by an unspoken but mutual understanding, and he continuously scanned the surrounding area for threats. It wasn't until after they came to an underpass with feral ghouls that he realized he was feeling something new.

"We've got company," he said softly, kneeling and pulling out his rifle.

She nodded, and then was running ahead, aiming for the ghouls that were also running -running towards her- and as she took one down with her 10mm, he blew the other two's heads off. She jogged back to him and grinned.

"That was fantastic! I've never seen such clean shots. Don't you ever miss?"

"Yeah, well, I'd better not miss if you're going to keep running straight up to those that want to kill you. A little distance never hurt anyone," he replied gruffly.

She continued grinning and patted her pistol, saying in a flirtatious voice, "it's always up close and personal with me." Then, with a slight frown, "besides, this girl doesn't have much of a range. I'd rather get close, take 'em out quick, and save ammunition. That and my feelings get hurt when I miss."

He shook his head, amused more than annoyed, and she flashed him one more grin before turning around and resuming their journey up the road.

And as he followed her, he recognized what he was feeling.

_Damn. I'm grateful._


	4. Chapter 4

_Whoots, another chapter! This one didn't go as far as I wanted it, but Sparrow is rather a stubborn girl that doesn't care what I want. I expect the next chapter will cover more ground._

_Ums, I feel the need to defend her weapon of choice, the 10mm. In-game, she uses pistols: she carries a silenced 10mm, a .44 magnum, and a hunting revolver. Early in the game she used a varmint rifle, but I prefer one handed weapons. Of course, they're all fully repaired and the guns skill is almost at 100. Her SPECIAL is fairly skewed- high agility, charisma, intelligence, and perception, with low strength and endurance. I figure that skills like intelligence and agility can be learned, but unless she's lifting weights, not strength; due to this, she doesn't use larger weapons, and even an SMG is too much (so is the hunting revolver, but I think someone can handle a kick a lot more easily than controlling constant spray firing). I'll prolly put one more point into endurance, just because she's running around all over the place._

_Anywho. Getting shot in the head does a number on a gal.  
_

_

* * *

_

_Another day out on the desert road, the sand-blown wind hitting her skin like a million miniscule daggers, making her even more grateful for the large sunglasses she had pilfered from a scavenger. She was on her way to New Vegas, package tucked into her pack, and was looking forward to entering the strip for the first time- especially with the payout that had been promised as a bonus for this delivery. Laughing out loud, enjoying the morning sun beating down on her head, she began a brisk jog down the road. Maybe it was the good humor she was in, or the fact that she hadn't read about any gangs in the area, or even just pure stupidity, but she didn't feel threatened when she saw a person on the top of the hill ahead of her. Instead, she waved both arms to show she was unarmed, and continued towards them. It wasn't until reached the top of the hill and saw a group of more men off to the side of the road that she began to worry. She slowed to a walk, her fingers twitching, not ready to reach for her gun quite yet._

"_Hey now. I'm just a courier, not looking for any trouble," she said with a smile, laying on the charm and trying to appear friendly and open._

_She wasn't the most skilled sharpshooter in the Mojave, but she wasn't bad, and her upbringing in New Reno had given her a great reaction time. Her travels with the caravan and the Express had shown her the value of being charismatic. Nonetheless, the men's faces remained hard, and she still wasn't agile enough to pull away when she realized a man had come up behind her. She was only fast enough to spin around, just in time to see a baton come down on her head._

"Mmph!"She sat up in bed, breathing hard. Looking at the window, she saw that the sky was beginning to become light, and she tried to calm her breathing. She sensed Boone was awake, and with a silent prayer that she hadn't given anything away in her sleep, she rolled out of bed, pulled on her fatigues, and went to the drawer where she kept her supplies. Pulling out a bag of coffee and grabbing a beat up tin pot, she nodded at Boone in greeting before leaving the room.

The sky was still a deep, dusky blue, but only a few stars were still visible. She padded down the stairs quietly and went to the campfire that was sitting in the middle of the yard. With some mild cursing, both towards the fire that didn't want to start and the cold air that the sun hadn't provided warmth to yet, she managed to get a small flame going. Shivering, she carried the pot over to a faucet and filled it with water. Setting it in the coals with one hand, she opened up the bag she had taken out earlier with the other. Despite herself, she smiled a little as she smelled the stale aroma of coffee grounds that wafted up, kept only barely viable by the plastic packaging they were sealed in. Waiting for the water to boil, she looked around, and waved to No-Bark as he walked into the courtyard; in turn, he looked at her suspiciously and quickly went the other way, shaking his head. She shrugged, and then lay back and gazed up the sky, watching it turn from blue to purple to pale red, becoming lighter as the sun came into view. Finally, just as the sun peeked up over the horizon, she heard the sound of water bubbling, and, unthinking, reached out to take the handle.

"Fuck!" She snatched her hand back fast enough to avoid blistering, but still had an angry red mark running down her palm. Muttering to herself, she took out a cloth and wrapped it around her hand several times before picking up the pot again. Carefully walking so as to not to spill a single drop, by the time she made it back to the room, she wasn't cursing anymore, but instead felt a deep and desperate need to pour herself a cup and nurse it over her burnt hand. She didn't see Boone when she first walked in, but heard muted sounds of splashing water from the bathroom. In a sour mood from a mix of the bad dream and burn on her hand, she didn't call out a greeting, but instead began pouring coffee into two of the chipped coffee mugs she'd found in the room. She forgot about her dreams, about the sniper, looking forward to the first sip-

"You made _coffee_?" Boone had come out from the bathroom and was staring at her incredulously, a scrap of cloth that he'd been using as a towel in his hands.

_Oh. Shit. I didn't even ask if he wanted any. He's probably mortally offended or something now. Good going, Sparrow._

She responded with something nonchalant, taking a sip from her cup. For a moment, everything was forgotten again, as the hot, bitter liquid ran down her throat, and she smiled unconsciously. She opened her eyes to meet Boone's, and realized that he had just expressed surprise in her habit. Embarrassed, especially since she'd just been caught treating her cup like it was as precious as any drug, she snapped back at him.

"I enjoy the drink as well," the sniper replied, an eyebrow raised. Immediately, Sparrow felt her anger ebb, and she raised her cup to take another sip, only to realize it was empty. Trying to cover up her multiple embarrassments in the face of the sniper's slight smirk, she quickly stood up and started rummaging around for food. After getting apples for both of them, and stew for Boone, she plopped back down and smiled gratefully at the sniper as he poured refilled her cup with dregs from the pot. And so, relaxed and contentedly buzzed from caffeine, she began to talk about her past with a little urging from her compatriot.

It had been a while since she'd really talked to anyone about California, but as long as she kept talking, she didn't have to think about it in great detail. She found herself smiling as she spoke about the caravan, purposely not going into detail about her youth in New Reno, and becoming nostalgic for the crew at the Express HQ. She almost laughed when she recalled her optimism and pride for becoming one of the first couriers for the Mojave Express, but then quickly remembered exactly how that turned out. Abruptly ending her narrative, she stood up and stepped towards the window.

_And then, after only a few months on the job, I was shot in the head. And now, even though I'm still alive, everything has changed. I was happy. HAPPY. Checkered suit ruined that._

Although the light hurt her eyes, she gazed into the ray of sun that shone through the window, swimming with dust, and clenched her fists. Although she sensed Boone was curious, she also knew he would be too polite to ask, and so she ignored his questioning glance and began to put on her armor.

* * *

A few hours later, and Sparrow was feeling much better. She always liked travelling; an odd trait for someone brought up in the city, but she equated being on the move with being free, probably why she'd taken to the caravan and courier life so well. She was walking at a fairly fast pace, and was about to suggest a jog, when Boone stopped moving. She glanced over her shoulder at him and saw him reach for his rifle.

"We've got company," he said, peering through his scope up at an underpass ahead.

Sparrow nodded, adrenaline pumping into her system. She didn't bother with a reply, but sprinted down the road, pistol ready. She heard a loud "CRACK" from behind her and saw a figure ahead go down; then she heard the screams of feral ghouls who had just scented prey. She realized she was baring her teeth, as much as a grimace as a grin, and aimed at the ghoul that was running straight at her. Her weapon's discharge was quieter but no less deadly- the ghoul went down, just as another rifle shot rang out. She imagined she felt the breeze of air displacement as the bullet sped over her shoulder and straight into the ghoul's skull. She stopped and blinked, her arms wavering slightly before she holstered her pistol and turned back to look at the sniper. He was standing up, reloading his weapon, acting as casual as any man who'd done anything but blow heads off from a goodly distance away. She jogged back to him, laughing, the adrenaline reminding her that she was alive, and she reveled in it. The adrenaline high kept her going, cocky and confident, until they reached the REPCONN test site.

* * *

She had removed her sunglasses and tucked him in her pack, and was now wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. They had just travelled through an entire factory, fighting for their lives, and _now_ she was getting chewed out for killing ferals. She glared at the lecturer, her lips thin, and snapped.

"We were defending ourselves! They attacked us! Your little human lackey with the major case of identity crisis never once told us to NOT kill the ghouls, just to hurry up. And if you hadn't noticed, there aren't exactly maps up on the wall telling us how to navigate this place. We got here as fast as we could- soooo sorry if we took out a majority of would-be brain-eaters on the way."

She flushed as the glowing ghoul in front of her, a one Jason Bright, folded her arms and pinned her with a state.

"Ah. Sorry. What I meant to say was that we, um-"

"You meant exactly what you said, Child," the robed ghoul said sadly. "This is why we must leave this place; the stereotypes and hatred of your kind."

"… they were trying to kill us though," Sparrow mumbled, beet red. It wasn't that she hated ghouls or anything, but they were pretty creepy with their skin flaking, and ferals really were vicious…

"And so, if you can take care of our attackers in the basement, that would be of great assistance to our cause," Jason continued, unaware of Sparrow's lack of attention due to her internal argument.

Boone cleared his throat, and she startled guiltily. "Right. Basement. Got it."

They left the area the ghouls were staying in, and Sparrow winced under the glare of the human assisting them, Chris. As they went down the stairs, she heard a guttural scream and froze as a feral ghoul came running around the corner. She couldn't move, staring at the creature, wondering what kind of a person it used to be…

_CRACK_

The ghoul's head exploded and she jumped backwards, colliding with Boone who was beginning to put his gun away. He caught her, awkwardly, and managed to regain balance before they both landed on the floor. He held onto her arm, gingerly, until she nodded at him. Panting, she collapsed against the wall and buried her head in her arms.

She heard the sniper kneel down beside her, not saying anything, just waiting. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes threatening to spill over.

"He used to be someone. She used to be someone. Maybe a mother. Or a caravaner. Or a soldier. Or-

"No." Boone's voice was quiet but authoritative, and she looked at him desperately.

"But you don't know. It was someone with a life. It could have had a life again, you heard what Jason said. It could have-"

"No," Boone interrupted again, his voice a little louder. "You need to stop this. Now."

"Why?" Sparrow stared at him, unaware she was biting her lip.

"You can't start questioning every kill. Yes, this creature was someone once. That someone it was died when it became a feral ghoul and attacked you. If a Fiend attacks you, yes, it used to be a person, but now it is just a drugged-up, killing machine. Trying to kill you."

"But… but Jason said these ghouls have a chance."

"Not a chance that you or I would understand. We have killed the majority of ghouls in this building, but they still attack us. They are not intelligent, thinking individuals. They are territorial animals without a notion of self-preservation. We kill them, or they kill us."

Throughout his short, unemotional, and very calm speech, Sparrow had been hanging on to every word. Slowly, what he said sunk in, and she nodded, seeing the sense in it.

"I… yes. You're right, of course. It's just- it's hard, y'know? They could just leave us alone, but they don't, and then we do have to kill him." Sparrow sighed deeply, and ran her hands through hair and pulled it back lightly, feeling the iron vise around her chest lessen a bit. "I never really thought of them as people before. And I don't really think they're… zombies… I met ghouls back in California. I just… they're not like ferals. I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing. Thank you for taking the shot."

Sparrow glanced back up at the sniper, surprised when she saw him staring at her, hard.

"Boone?" She asked, her voice trailing off.

"What the fuck is that?"

"What? What are you talking about?" She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise. She jumped when he reached out and touched her face. No, she realized a second later, he was touching her forehead, pulling back her bangs… oh.

She reacted automatically, throwing herself backwards- slamming the back of her head right into the wall. Thousands of little lights flashed in front of her eyes, illuminating the blackness that overpowered her vision even though she would have sworn her eyes had been open just a second ago.

_Blood. It was the first thing she thought when as regained consciousness- she could smell the sharp, irony tang of blood. Her second thought was that her head hurt a great deal. Her third thought was that her limbs weren't working because she was trying to move them but nothing was happening. And then she remembered what had happened, that she'd been hit in the head, and now she was tied up. Only that couldn't be right because it had been morning, and now it was the dead of night, stars merrily twinkling overhead-_

Gasping, she lurched forward and vomited, her head hurting and a bile growing deep inside, deeper than anything her body could expel. She began shaking, waving off Boone, wanting to tell him she was fine, that she'd be fine, but unable to find the words. She heard a soft keening, and wondered where it was coming from, when a sharp slap on her face startled her. It wasn't until the third or fourth slap that she was pulled completely back to reality.

"What the fuck are you doing!" She glared up the sniper, beyond angry, her cheeks smarting.

"You were panicking."

"You slapped me!"

"You stopped panicking."

Sparrow opened her mouth to curse at him again, then closed it. Damn his cold logic, and damn him. He had a point. "Whatever. Right. Don't fucking touch me again, okay?"

Boone merely nodded at her, then handed her a bottle of water. She chugged it, not caring that it was irradiated, and threw the empty bottle when she was done. It bounced against the wall and floors, the plastic making a strange echoing sound as it rolled down the hallway.

"Come on. We've got a job to do."

Still angry to a degree she couldn't explain, she lead the way to the basement door they'd found earlier, and pushed it open, pistol ready. She was itching for a fight, but rational enough to know picking one with the sniper was a bad idea.

_Who cares that he saw the scar? What's your problem? So your brains are a little fried, not like it-_

"MotherfuckingOW!" she yelled as she ran full into something hard and fell backwards- and not into Boone, who should have been behind her, but smack into the cold floor. She glared back at him, about to yell at him, when she saw him pointing his gun at her.

She was about to scream at him when she heard his voice, quiet but urgent order, "stay down," and barely had time to register his words before a bullet whizzed above her head and into-

_Oh. Shit._

Straight into the torso of a big blue mutant with an even bigger club, that had just appeared out of the air. A club that was, for all intent and purposes, heading straight for her head.

She rolled out of the way, feeling the floor reverberate as the rebar landed next to her. She scrambled for her gun as Boone fired another shot, this one hitting the mutant's left leg. The thing roared and raised its weapon again, still focusing on Sparrow. She managed to pull the trigger, a 10mm bullet slamming into the monster's leg, and roll away- but not before the rebar came down hard on her calf. She hissed at the pain of it and knew that her bone was crushed. She could barely move, her leg useless, and raised the pistol to aim at her attacker's head in a last ditch attempt to defend herself. She squeezed the trigger, a feeling of calm infusing her, and felt a kind of pride as the bullet imbedded itself in the mutant's eye. She watched the rebar raise, the mutant's arm tense before he brought it down on her- and then, in muted amazement, as a streak of brown and red threw itself past and over her, attacking the mutant in a blur of grey and silver. Feeling increasingly detached from the situation, she watched as Boone attacked the thing with a combat knife, vicious and unrelenting. But even with that, blood seeping from the wounds on its body, she could see it was winning. And so, with the last bit of strength she had, she raised her pistol one last time, held her breath, and fired.

Boone threw himself from the mutant as it went down, the final bullet to the brain becoming its death sentence. Sparrow dropped the gun, her fingers going numb, as she stared down at what was left of her leg- now just a mess of blood and crushed bone. She blinked at Boone as he knelt down next to her.

"Nice shot. And I told you not to go running into things headfirst."

She laughed weakly, then winced with the pain. She sighed and cursed, then muttered something.

"What's that?" Boone asked as he fished around in the pack.

"I really hate those things."

Pain and confusion pervaded her thoughts, and she barely felt the sting of the stimpack needle. She gazed up at the sniper with blurry vision and hiccupped.

"There's not even any brahmin here…"

Sighing, she closed her eyes, and didn't even notice when Boone picked her up.


	5. Chapter 5

_Whoots, update! Thank you to all the new reviewers and welcome to the new readers. 3_

_

* * *

_

_Oh hell._

Boone grunted as he scooped the girl up in his arms, being careful not to jostle her leg.

_Surprisingly light, even with the leather armor._

He carefully carried her out the way they came, watching for any signs of shimmer in the air. He didn't think there'd be any nightkin lying in wait, but he still breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he made it out of the basement. Gently, he set the unconscious girl down on the ground and pulled out his knife, only to wince when he saw that it was still covered in mutant blood, received when he'd leapt onto the mutant in an attempt to distract it from the trapped girl. He hadn't had time to line up a shot and so had fallen back on his basic combat training received when he'd first enlisted with the NCR.

_Little spitfire. Stupid to go running ahead like that, but she didn't give up. More balls than a lot of the men I've worked with. Impressive that she could still aim that well, injured and at that angle. Lucky for me though._

He wiped the knife off on his own pants and then began to carefully slice the leather open on her bleeding leg. What he saw as the leather peeled back made him grit his teeth. Blood, certainly, but it also looked like the bone was sticking out in several places- it was pretty much muscle holding her calf together. He'd seen worse, but not much, and much less on people still alive.

_Which she won't be if I can't stop this bleeding_.

Boone wasn't trained as a doctor, but he'd run with a few rangers and had learned some medic skills beyond the basics that the NCR insisted on. He fished around in the pack and pulled out a med-x, two stimpacks, and a doctor's bag. He stabbed her below the knee with the med-x, then injected the stimpacks above and below the injury. Then, as the chems began to take effect, he opened the bag and pulled out some gauze and a splint. Working methodically but quickly, he soon had her leg wrapped up, and was gratified to see the form of her calf coming back as the flesh knitted together. Shaking his head, he pulled out a purified water and sat back, watching the girl and her leg as he drank from the bottle.

_It had been a massacre. Everyone dead- man, woman, child- it didn't matter. A few people had survived, mostly because they had been injured and mistaken for dead or dying, trapped under the growing pile of bodies. Once they'd received cease-fire orders, they had begun to search the bodies for some sign of life- in general, the closer to the middle of the pile, the more likely there were to be survivors. Of course, the survivors were in bad shape, usually shot one or more times… there was one kid, a little girl, who had been at the bottom of the pile and her legs were crushed. They didn't have any spare medical supplies other than stimpacks, and so she'd been injected. Stimpacks did the job of healing the flesh, knitting muscle and bone back together, but without a splint, it had healed unevenly, and the child was no longer able to walk without crutches…_

A low moan brought Boone back to the present, and he saw Sparrow flail, her eyes clenched shut. Automatically, he reached out to hold her down, to keep her from moving her healing leg, when his eyes strayed to the girl's forehead. Ignoring the little voice inside telling him that he was intruding on her privacy, he pushed her bangs back, barely touching her skin, and examined the scar present on her left temple. It had been stitched together at one point, it looked like, but it still had the telltale puckering of burnt flesh and impact trauma. There was no doubt that this was a bullet wound, likely caused by a 10 or 9 mil. With professional detachment, he ran his finger over it, acknowledging the fine medical care it must have taken, and then ran his fingers through her hair, gently feeling her scalp. There, on the back, behind her ear, another scar- must be the exit wound. No doubt, she'd been shot, and he'd bet his scope it had been at close range. Obviously not a professional job either, or she'd be rotting in the desert somewhere, not lying unconscious at the bottom of stairs in the REPCONN facility.

"Oh hell," he said softly, impressed with the girl's luck, bad and good.

Not meaning to, his hand clenched, pulling her hair, and he didn't realize what he was doing until he heard the girl whimper.

"No… not this..."

He looked down at the girl's face, illuminated dimly by the setting sun's light coming in through a grimy window. His hand relaxed, but he kept his fingers in her hair, distracted by a lone tear, glistening like a diamond, which was sneaking its way through her closed eyes. He figured she was remembering the shooting, and so was a little surprised when she spoke again, her voice broken by a sob.

"Jos… you can't… come back…"

Bemused, he gazed down at her. Her jaw was clenched, but her trembling lower lip drew his eyes to her mouth. It was full, vulnerable, but offset by a stubborn chin. Boone knew what was happening, and cursed his lack of self will to stop, but he hadn't been this close to a female since… he hadn't even allowed himself to see another female-

"NO!"

The girl's voice rang out, loud and terrified and angry, and it knocked him out his reverie just in time to look down and see a mass of brown hair fill his vision before slamming into his face, pain blossoming throughout his nose.

Boone cursed as he caught the girl and slapped a hand over her mouth. He could see her eyes, large with shock, as she began to wake up completely.

"You're in the REPCONN Test Site building. You got hit pretty badly by one of the mutants in the basement, so I carried you out to the main building. I've treated your injured leg with stimpacks, but you need to keep it straight so it can set properly. There are probably still feral ghouls around, so I'd appreciate if you wouldn't scream." Boone whispered harshly to her, trying to get her to shake off the cobwebs and come back to reality.

Slowly, he felt the girl begin to relax, and as she did, he realized that she was pressed tightly against him, one of his arm's wrapped around her reflexively, holding her in place. She was warm, even through the leather armor she wore, and with each breath, he could feel her chest rise against his arm-

"Shit!" Boone abruptly pushed himself away and stood up, stopping his thoughts, angry at himself, at the girl, at everything.

* * *

Sparrow came back to the realm of consciousness with a start, faded memories of a dream leaving her in a mild panic and hell of a lot of pain. She felt a presence looming over her and sat up in shock, only to immediately be almost knocked over by a splitting pain as her head ran into something hard with a sickening crunch. As an arm came around her, immobilizing her, and when a large hand came up to cover her mouth, she almost bit it, ready to fight like a coyote in a trap, when she heard Boone's low, unforgiving voice tersely explain the situation. She blinked, and then slowly began to relax, not completely understanding his words, but trusting him to do what was right. As her half-conscious fuzzy logic decided, Boone was a trusted figure, and so when she leaned into him, she accepted the strength of his arms and the warmth of his body, and she was about to close her eyes again when she heard him curse in a strangled voice.

"Shit!"

Suddenly her support left her, and she had to quickly reach back and catch herself before she fell over, off balance. In a few seconds, she fully regained her senses, and shook her head, trying to understand everything- and, more importantly, trying to ignore the part of her that really missed being held close to someone.

"I… Boone? Are you okay?" She asked him, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

She heard him cursing softly, mostly inaudible, and turned her head to look at him.

"Boone, your face! It's covered in blood!"

The sniper raised his hand- she now knew it had calluses, but she wasn't going to think of that- to his nose and winced before answering her.

"You sammed your head into mine when you woke up. Think you might have broken my nothe."

_Goddammit. Now there's how you win the men, Sparrow. You break their noses._

"Shit, I'm sorry. Here, let me get a stimpacks-"

"No, don't mouf. I'll get it. You need to keep that leg still."

Sparrow watched as the man reached into the pack and pulled out a stimpack, and winched in sympathy as he injected it beside his nose- she knew how much those things hurt. In part because she thought she was half hysterical and didn't want to giggle inappropriately at his nasal tone, and in part because the pain in her leg was hitting her in full force, she examined her leg, covered in gauze and splinted.

"How bad was it? I managed to get away from the worst of it, I thought."

Boone, holding his nose in place with one hand, but with a voice that was noticeably less nasal, replied,  
"It was pretty bad. Broke the bone in a lot of places. You'll need to keep that splint on for at least a day if you don't want to risk uneven healing."

Sparrow sighed, then shrugged. "No hope for it. I'm not big on sneaking anyways. We should continue and clean out that basement."

She raised a hand to the sniper, beckoning for him to help her up. He came over, as expected, and pulled her to feet. What she wasn't expecting was his grabbing her shoulders and giving her, were he not whispering, what would be considered a violent vocal lashing.

"What the fuck were you thinking? I don't know what that bullet to the brain did to you, but I won't risk my life again for some stupid _child _that runs ahead without any caution, ignoring the consequences. You almost _died_."

Sparrow could only stare at him, in shock at this outpouring of words. At first she was angry, but with the way his voice had changed on the last word, she was instead humiliated. She hung her head in shame, but in a second raised it again, and gazed into Boone's eyes, uncovered by the sunglasses he usually wore.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I was being childish, and that could have gotten us killed. I won't do it again."

The sniper stared back at her, then let her go with a little push.

"Make sure you don't. I'll take point, since I don't have a broken leg to lug around. That means you'd better stay as good with that pistol as you were earlier- I don't want to get pinned under a mutie."

She nodded, and took her pistol out, reloading it and making sure extra ammo was in easy reach. She practiced walking in the splint, then motioned for Boone to lead the way back into the basement.

_I won't let you down again, I promise._

_

* * *

_

Boone watched as the girl opened the door to the testing facility. Her leg had healed cleanly, and after a few days, her limp had all but vanished. He followed after her and didn't see her for a moment, distracted by the large windows in front of him. A movement caught his eye and he looked towards the right of the room. Sparrow was standing in front of a large computer, tapping some keys in.

They'd cleaned out the basement fairly neatly; they'd both gotten injured, but nothing serious. They'd both gotten pretty good at recognizing the shimmer that stealthed nightkin had, and the kid hadn't let her temper flare up until the end, when they found a dead female ghoul trapped in a room.

"_This is wrong," she had said, the first words they'd shared other than 'got him' or 'got your back,' her voice like steel. Turning to him, her eyes flashing with anger, she continued, "This was planned, not just a brute killing. This was a prisoner, and they killed her. It's personal now."_

_Boone had shrugged, having seen worse. At least the ghoul still had her clothes, but he decided that fact probably wouldn't pacify Sparrow. He'd been watching her closely, and she'd been doing well, her aim true, her leg only slowing her down a little bit. She hadn't shown any signs of mental instability, and he didn't even realize he'd been watching for it until he felt some of his tension ease._

_They backtracked and went down a tunnel they had skipped before. They found a mutant who spoke to them, albeit in anger, and Sparrow had cursed afterward at his dead body, the only sign of her temper flaring. When they found the ghoul, Harland, holed up in the room, her voice broke, and Boone had to finish her sentence, telling Harland that his friend was dead. They'd followed the ghoul back to the Brotherhood then, spoken to Jason Bright. Boone had been amazed when he'd seen the rockets, and more amazed when he learned that they could fly- almost. His amazement was nothing compared to his companion's though- her face was pressed against the glass, drinking in the sight, and then she had turned to the human, Chris, and started pestering him with questions. He found himself both amused and overwhelmed by her curiosity and enthusiasm; she asked both childish and technical questions, and was surprised by her know-how with mechanics._

_Her questioning had led to Chris putting up his hands and responding rudely that the rockets weren't going anywhere without parts, and would she please shut up long enough for him to tell her what was needed. Boone found himself wanting to hit the man, for Sparrow's shoulders had suddenly slumped, and she had the expression of someone beaten. Hell, he had chastised her, but this, this was just mean._

_No matter, they had taken off back to Novac- Sparrow had just happened to have one of those stupid plastic rockets, and Chris had said if they collected more of them, they could serve as fuel. The next day, they had gone over to the Gibson Scrapyard, and the girl's enthusiasm had returned, and he had had to remind her that the ghouls were waiting; she was so in depth in conversation with the old lady that he had to repeat himself twice. In return, she had flashed him a smile, free of pain and worry, and he had to give himself a mental kick because he almost smiled back in automatic response, but he couldn't help but let his feelings of impatience slip away, happy to see the girl so obviously enthralled._

_As they made their way to the Test Site, she had chatted gaily, and he had quietly let her, looking around for any danger. Once back inside the facility, they had given the materials to Chris, and listened to a speech by Jason. Boone had kept a wary eye on Chris, unsure of how his psyche would respond-sure enough, the man had turned to Sparrow, bitter and angry, blaming the ghouls for his own shortsightedness. Boone was ready to turn and leave the guy in disgust, but Sparrow convinced him it was for the better, and he found himself, yet again, impressed at the way she could weave words around people, even pitiful excuses of men like the one before her. However, he had spent enough time with the girl by now to realize the encounter had bothered her, and they had gone up to the test facility in silence._

"Damn, I can't hack in!" Sparrow cried in frustration, and hit the machine with the palm of her hand. He smirked a little, knowing that she wanted to kick the machine but not willing to risk her leg for it.

"What does it do?"

"I'm not sure," she said, walking over to stand next to him at the window, looking out over the grounds. "I know it has something to do with navigation, but the systems are too complicated for me to get anymore information from."

"So?"

"… I don't know. It said there was some issue with the coordinates, but I can't see what those are. I hope everything is okay."

"Do you really think this will work?" Boone asked, honestly curious.

"I do. I mean, they've been working on it a long time. I wish I knew what they'd see out there. It would be amazing to experience it…" Sparrow's voice trailed off dreamily.

Boone looked over at her, drinking in the sight. She had changed out of her armor in Novac and was instead wearing her fatigues again until they found some extra leather to repair her suit with. Her arms were bare, showing lean muscle under the freckled skin. It was early afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky, bringing out strands of blonde and red in her hair. He had realized the past day that he was used to her, had memorized her footsteps and was learning her moods, and was surprised to realize that it didn't bother him. If anything, he felt more at ease now that he had a partner again, and he refused to acknowledge his feelings as anything else.

His partner. He narrowed his eyes, his look changing from appreciative to assessing. He still wasn't sure if she had it in her to help him with his vendetta, but his opinion on her was changing every day. Her leg was healed, but they still hadn't talked about the scar on her head, or her reaction to it.

"Well, shall we?" Her voice startled him a bit, for she hadn't moved, but was still just staring out the window. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, her hazel eyes questioning and excited. He nodded.

"Cross your fingers!" She punched a command into the keypad in front of her, and they both watched, transfixed, as the dome in front of them began to open. Sparrow let out a loud a WHOOP as the first two rockets took off in a straight light, but it died just as quickly as the third and final rocket trajectory veered, coming straight towards the window. They both ducked, Sparrow covering her head and Boone readying himself to pounce and throw her to the floor, when the rocket veered up at the last minute, leaving molten air in its wake. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding, and then sucked it back in when there was a loud crash in the distance. He looked over at Sparrow, who had her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide, with tears beginning to form.

Alarmed, he reached out for her to assess her injury, when she waved him away with a strangled sob.

"That- that was the rocket. It crashed. The computer. It said- it said the trajectory was off. I saw that! I- I could have done something." She stared at him, turning pale, and began to breath fast- too fast. Boone, seeing that a full-on panic attack was in danger of beginning, quickly took charge of the situation.

"You said the system was too complicated. This is pre-war tech, and they probably had it very heavily guarded against spies and tampering. It's not your fault- if it's anyone's, it's that ghoul's for just trusting some vision. Okay? Calm down."

"But, if I'd only known, if I'd only been a little better…" The girl's voice trailed off into a whisper, and she still looked lost, but at least her breathing was normal and her eyes were dry.

"You couldn't have done anything, not with the knowledge you have now. You can't blame yourself for this."

He watched the girl slowly nod, biting her lip.

"I… you're right. I just didn't know enough." She lifted her chin, suddenly looking determined.

"Come on, Boone. Let's go back to Novac. And then, tomorrow, let's ask that son-of-a-bitch ex-partner of yours about the man in the checkered suit." And with that, she turned her back on the REPCONN facility. Boone followed, confused at her words, and tried to ignore a sinking feeling that she hadn't been agreeing with him so much as resolving herself to some task he'd given her an idea for.

_Well, hell._


	6. Chapter 6

_Long time coming, sorry. Deadlines at work and whatnot. I have a clear idea for the next couple chapters though, so they should go up pretty soon- and now that character development is maturing, we'll actually get some action (whee). Would you believe I still haven't finished my first play-through? Things'll slow down during winter vacation (I hope!)._

_Thank you for your patience, many thanks for the new alerts and favourites, and most thanks for the reviews! I'm thrilled that people choose to read this story out of the many Courier/Boone fics available (haha, and I thought I was being original by posting of the first ones… it's such a good pairing though, no wonder it's popular!)._

_

* * *

_

Sparrow gazed across the barren landscape, idly recognizing the beauty of the usually dark Mojave Desert lit up by the moon. She shivered as a cold breeze hit the camp, and pulled her blanket around her tighter. Boone's loaded rifle lay at her feet, the black gunmetal an eerie silver color in the light of the full moon, in easy grabbing motion should something happen while she was on watch. She didn't notice that she was fidgeting, her fingers worrying the edge of the worn blanket, a maroon colored scrap of cloth that was leftover from her caravanning days and still smelled faintly of brahmin.

_Joy and awe at seeing the rockets ignite and begin their initial take off. Horror and shock when one went off course, followed by wrenching guilt for not having done something. Couldn't do anything, not good enough- not good enough to save the ghouls, not good enough to be a courier, not good enough to be a who-_

Another breeze hit her and she shivered violently as the wind went through a space where she had let the blanket slip. The icy wind stopped her line of thought as much as Boone's slap a few days earlier had, and she sighed, her teeth chattering. She knew it wasn't her fault that the rocket had crashed, not really, but she hated feeling so useless. If only she had spent more time learning how to use the piece of tech on her arm, or if she had bothered to pull out one of her science magazines, or if… so many "what ifs" for a moment that was over in an instant. She didn't even know why she cared so much- it wasn't as if she had really cared much for the ghouls- but it still haunted her, the helplessness and unfairness of their demise.

"Shit!" She cursed as the breeze picked up, chilling her again. She heard movement by the banked fire and looked over at the sniper guiltily. He had turned over, but still appeared to be sleeping despite her outburst. His features were indistinguishable in the dark, but she could imagine it well enough- strong chiseled jaw, nose a little too beakish to be conventionally attractive, full lips in a perpetual frown... strong shoulders, body well defined, shirt tight enough to see the outline of the muscles on his back and chest, arms strong and warm when they wrapped around you…

_Oh. Crap._

Sparrow blinked several times, trying to wish away her last line of thought. It had been too long since she'd been with a guy, that was all, and being around a man 24/7 was driving her hormones crazy. That was all.

_A good looking, strong man, who you trust with your life, and whose arms it feels really good to be held in..._

"And an assload of issues," Sparrow muttered, trying to stop her mind from going unhelpful and frustrating places.

She sighed again, wrapping the blanket around her tighter even though she suddenly wasn't all that cold, and checked her pipboy. 4am- well, it wasn't like she was going to sleep anyway. She thought about starting up the fire but decided that her companion should at least get some rest, and so she just fished around in her pack until she found an extremely bruised apple. She sat back down, taking a bite, and resumed her watch over the desert. No more than a few minutes had passed when a hand on her shoulder made her jump, the shock causing her to drop her half-eaten apple on the ground. She automatically reached for her pistol but got tangled in the folds of the blanket, pulse beating wildly, as she looked up at her assailant- and into Boone's impassive face. Thousands of curses flew through her mind, but fled instantly as soon as she realized that the sniper didn't have a shirt on, his bare chest dimly illuminated by her pipboy light.

"Well?" Boone asked, and she realized that he had asked her something.

"Um. Sorry. What?"

Boone sighed, sounding exasperated. "I said, 'do you want to get some sleep until dawn? I'm up now.'"

"Oh. Gotcha," she replied, still distracted.

"…"

"I mean, no! I'm good, not sleepy," she said sheepishly, realizing she hadn't actually answered his question. I _had _an apple." Sparrow picked it up land ooked woefully at the now sandy fruit, trying to decide if it was worth rinsing off with precious water. "Why're you up? I didn't hear anything."

"Didn't sleep well," the sniper replied, and she belatedly noticed that his torso was shiny with sweat.

"Oh. Okay." _Great, I sound like a robot. A dumb robot._

Boone, oblivious to her thoughts, sat down beside her, picked up his rifle and carefully put in his lap, and looked off into the desert. She took out a knife and began to cut away the sandy parts of the apple, throwing the scraps over the hillside. Surreptitiously, she watched the sniper, both admiring his shirtlessness and inwardly wincing at the cold. Finally, she was unable to stand it any longer.

"Aren't you _cold_?"

Boone looked over at her, his eyes bright, and she felt like he'd been worlds away. He looked down and seemed to notice that he had goosebumps and was shirtless because he grimaced slightly and stood up.

"Yea. Guess I am," he said quietly and went over to his pack to find a shirt.

Sparrow watched him, distracted, and the knife slipped, slicing her finger. She stuck her finger in her mouth, sucking on it, and when Boone turned back to her, he raised his eyebrows in question.

"Cuth may finger," she mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You are very accident prone."

She glared at him but didn't respond. How was she supposed to tell him that having him around, his _maleness_, distracted her like crazy? They sat in silence for a few minutes until the bleeding stopped.

"I'm not used to having someone around, is all. I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

Boone didn't look at her, but replied, "I didn't say you weren't. But you are clumsy."

"Whatever," she muttered, beginning to feel pissed off.

"I didn't mean to offend you. You're still alive- that says something. And you seem to have luck on your side. Consider your past- it was clumsiness and pure luck that got you with that caravan. And getting your leg torn in half, but still managing to bring down the mutant. Clumsy luck."

"Hey now, that head shot was pure skill, Sweetcheeks," she said with a drawl, falling back into her Reno speech patterns. For a split moment, she almost laughed, but then realized exactly what she said and held her breath, afraid she'd crossed a line.

There was a breath of pure silence, and then Boone sighed deeply, and she relaxed. He didn't seem anymore upset than usual, and she felt she knew him well enough by now to be able to tell.

"Sure, Kid. Tell yourself that."

"I'm not a kid," she sulked, and finished off her apple. They sat beside each other in relative silence until the Eastern horizon began to lighten in a precursor to dawn. She got up to start the campfire and boil some water, when Boone spoke again.

"Most people die when they take a bullet to the head. Not you. Lucky."

She ignored him until the fire started and water was in the pot. She poked at the embers until Boone got up and joined her, and they both warmed their hands as the water began to steam.

"You know, I wasn't always called Sparrow. I didn't take this name until I was 7 or so and began running with some other street children. We were a bunch of beggars and petty thieves, but it was a family for a while. One of the older kids said we were like a bunch of rats, always surrounding people and getting into things we shouldn't have been. I stuck my nose up in the air and said I wasn't a dirty rat, but his ma sure was. It was a stupid insult actually, especially since none of us really had parents, but he got really mad and started chasing me. I was too fast and he couldn't catch me, but he was too fast for me to get away from, and I ended up on the second story of a burnt out building."

Pausing, Sparrow tested the water, glad it was turning warm. She looked over at Boone, who was watching her intently, waiting for her to continue.

"Well, there was another building about 20 feet or so away. I knew it was dumb, but I also knew that if the guy caught me, I'd be dead meat. And so I ran and jumped- for one wonderful moment, it seemed like I was going to make it. Of course, I fell short and landed on the ground, breaking my arm and getting all cut up from broken glass. And I still would have been dead meat, but by that point all of New Reno had seen us running around and heard the story, and when I crash landed, some teenagers came over, all pretty well dressed, came and helped me up. When the ganger came down to finish the job, the best dressed one stood behind me and warned him off. After the ganger left, he held me away from and looked me up and down. Said, 'you're not a rat, but you're certainly filthy." One of the other boys started laughing at how I'd flown, and the boy holding me laughed and said I was like a sparrow- small and dirty, a feathered rat with spunk. I should have been angry, but I wasn't- he carried himself like royalty, like someone important, and I immediately decided that that should be my name. Besides, I was dirty. I wanted to know who he was, but he and his friends laughed and left."

She chuckled softly, caught up in the memory, remembering how she had twisted to stare up into the boy's face as he spoke to her, curious and eager to know her rescuer.

Boone coughed and she looked at him questioningly.

"Did you find out who it was?" he asked.

"Yea. Joseph Mordino, the youngest son of the Mordino crime boss. He put in word for me too 'cause when I got back to downtown, there was a street addict that told me some guy had paid him to tell me to go the clinic. Doc set my arm and everything. I decided that Jos was my knight in shining armor and went around showing people my cast and telling them my name was 'Sparrow.' And the name stuck."

The water began to boil and she quickly took the pot off the fire, enjoying the heat that the hot steam provided. She felt relaxed as the sun began to rise, and so decided to push her luck.

"So, Boone, what about you? What's your story?"

"Not now."

"Hardly fair…" she wheedled.

"Not. Now."

Sparrow shrugged and decided it was for the best. The more taciturn her companion was, the less likely she'd forget _who_ he was. She didn't need her crush to grow.

_No, not a crush. Just… hormones. Right. Hormones._

Boone's voice broke through her thoughts as she got out tin cups to serve the coffee in.

"What the hell is a sparrow?"


	7. Chapter 7

_'nother one… making the most out of some slower days :-)_

_And, why yes, I do play Mass Effect. Thanks for asking :-D  
_

* * *

"Boone, why'd the Khans call you a murderer?"

Boone looked at the girl without answering; she had slowed down to walk beside him, her dusty face curious. They were about 30 miles out of Boulder City, and it looked like she was finally running low on her adrenaline-induced energy high. He had thought she was insane when she said she would negotiate with the trapped Khans but had followed her in anyway- he figured if anyone should have her back with a bunch of Great Khans, it should be him.

"_C'mon Boone, let's get this done."_  
"_This will not end well for us, Kid."_  
"_Such little faith in me- I'm a great diplomat! And I'm not a kid."_

_They had gone into the decrepit building after checking on the hostages, who were thirsty and scared but alive. The Khan inside who appeared the leader, Jessup, stared hard at Boone's hat, but his next reaction was unprecedented. Sparrow took off her glasses in the dusty store and leaned against the doorframe, ever so casual, and crossed her arms. Boone watched as Jessup's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened several times like he was trying to get air. Eventually he managed to talk, albeit in a shaky voice, his eyes never leaving Sparrows face._

"_You're supposed to be dead!"_

_Sparrow still leaned against the door frame, only a tightening of her jaw belying her tension. Her voice was as calm and cool as Boone had ever heard it._

"_I got **better**."_

"Was it about Bitter Springs?"

Boone glared at her, and through gritted teeth, warned her off. She muttered something uncomplimentary and then walked ahead again, kicking a rock on the ground. Hell, he liked the kid well enough, but it wasn't any of her damn business.

* * *

_He was impressed with how she was handling herself. She had talked the Khans into freeing the hostages, and then the NCR into letting them walk. When she went back to let the Khans know, they talked for a little in low voices. Boone doggedly followed her, ignoring the glares and rude comments directed towards him. He felt his fists clench when Jessup reached out and ran his hand down Sparrow's bare arm and invited her to visit Red Rock Canyon. He took a step forward without thinking, and both of them looked over at him- the Khan smug and Sparrow confused. He had to hold himself back from punching the ganger when he laughed, a deep rich sound, and casually put his arm across Sparrow's shoulders._

"_Interesting company you keep, Girlie."_

"_We should go," Boone said, his voice under iron control, not showing his fury. But he knew, somehow, that Sparrow was aware of his feelings. She stepped away from the Khan to look into his face, and he was glad that he was wearing sunglasses to help block her silent inquiry. After a moment, she turned and shrugged._

"_I trust him with my life," she said softly, perhaps even affectionately._

_The Khan snorted and shook his head. "Funny business, trusting a murderer with your life."_

"_He's already saved it," Sparrow replied sharply. "And we need to go- I have a date with Benny."_

_They turned to leave, and the relief Boone felt at going away, anywhere away from here, was overwhelming. He inwardly winced as he heard the Khan speak again, but this time it was not to waylay them_

"_Hey, Girlie. Benny left this here. Shove it up his ass for me when you see him, k?"_

_Sparrow reached up and caught a glittering silver box, and when she opened her hand, he saw that it was a finely engraved silver lighter. Sparrow nodded tersely and pocketed it, and they turned and left the ruins of Boulder City behind. It wasn't until they were out of town that full comprehension came of the information they had gained: Benny was the one in the checkered suit who sucked at killing people- and he was apparently a big boss of New Vegas. Huh._

_

* * *

_

A whirring sound had both of them pivoting and pulling their weapons at the same time. Boone peered through his scope and what he saw through the dust surprised him.

"It's a robot. Looks like a securitron."

Sparrow made a small noise but kept her pistol aimed until the robot came into view.

"Howdy partner! Imagine running into you out here!"

The girl holstered her gun and sighed, crossing her arms.

"Victor. Odd seeing you here. You're not following me by any chance, are you?"

Boone looked over at her, and she shrugged.

"It's Victor. The robot that dug me out of the grave in Goodsprings. Pretty coincidental that he's here."

"You hurt my feelings, Partner! I'm just on my way to New Vegas and thought I'd say hi to some friendly faces!"

"Riiiiiiiight," the girl drawled, and Boone relaxed since she obviously didn't see any threat in the weird conglomerate of cowboy and robot. He found himself fighting a smile at her obvious accent as she bantered with Victor. She'd talked about her growing up in New Reno, but he still found her 'street speak,' as it was, amusing. He tried briefly to imaging her as a dirt-covered little girl, insulting someone bigger than her and then jumping out a window, and was surprised realize that he actually could. She'd be barely taller than his leg, hair tangled and wispy, with an upturned nose and alert hazel eyes that saw too much…

He started as the robot rolled off, and they watched it in silence until the dust trail settled.

"So," Sparrow said, her voice carefully nonchalant, "that was interesting."

Boone shook his head and looked at the sky.

"It'll be dark soon. Want to make camp?" He asked. He figured she must be pretty tired since she hadn't slept the other night.

"I'm not especially tired yet. Too much going on. Let's try to get to New Vegas."

Boone shook his head again- New Vegas was still a long ways off- but they took off. His partner was silent, and he found himself somewhat missing her banter. He couldn't get the image of her little girl self out of his head now that he had imagined it, and found himself wondering more about her youth. He wondered at her easy sharing of some information, but he knew she was withholding some things- and there was still the matter of Benny shooting her and leaving her for dead- she always closed up and changed the subject when he brought that up. He wasn't sure what to make of it- she didn't seem in shock or denial, but her absolute refusal to discuss it with him upset him- especially since she had bantered with the Khans about it.

As they trudged forward towards the city, he found himself revisiting the day again. She hadn't been exaggerating when she claimed to be a diplomat; that girl was too good at talking. He supposed he was glad that she had never turned her charm on him… yet. There was the kicking point. He didn't like being manipulated, and while the girl didn't seem to have any malicious intent, he now had inkling of what she was capable of. If ever turned those falsely guileless eyes to him and opened her mouth to use that talented tongue of hers-

He inhaled dust at that point and began to cough. Sparrow turned around and thumped him on the back, and when he reached for water, she already had some ready.

"Problems?" Her voice was sardonic, but still kind.

"No. Maybe. I was thinking about your tongue."

When she arched her eyebrows at him, he realized exactly what he had said, and for the first time in a long while, he began to stumble on his words.

"No! I mean, not that. Your tongue's ability. No. Crap." Sparrow was outright laughing at him now, her eyes twinkling. He looked at her helplessly, at a loss for words. She was still laughing at him. He mustered all his dignity and tried once more.

"I mean, you have a way with words. A silver tongue."

Sparrow giggled a little, her eyes crinkling with humor.

"I figured that was what you meant, but oh, you should have seen your face!"

Boone glared at her, and she gave one last laugh before nodding and turning serious.

"I told you, I'm good at talking to people. Had to be, growing up where I did- if you didn't have a specialty, you'd get killed or worse. Some people were big and strong, others were great at sneaking around, and some had their sex appeal. Me… I was too small to be brawny, too clumsy to be sneaky, and too plain to be appealing. And so I learned to be fast- and when I wasn't fast enough, I learned to talk circles around people. All part of survival."

Again, without thinking, Boone said, "You were too plain to be appealing?" He was thinking of how the Khan had been with her, but as soon as he said them, realized his words could be taken an entirely different way- and perhaps, not an entirely wrong way. She was an attractive female by most standards. Luckily, Sparrow seemed distracted and didn't tease him.

"Yea. I didn't fill out until I was almost 15, and even then, I didn't get much. I was just a sexless kid. Look, I don't want to talk about that. We've still got a ways to New Vegas."

She turned and resumed walking at a fast pace. Boone stood still for a moment before he realized that she wasn't going to stop and cursed, jogging after her.

"Kid!"

She didn't answer, just increased the pace even more.

"Goddamnit, Sparrow!"

She stopped and whirled around, her eyes dangerously narrowed, all of her body language screaming that she wanted a fight. He held his hands in front of him, palms open.

"You need to slow down. I don't know what your problem is, but you're doing the same thing you were when the mutie almost took your leg off. Calm the fuck down. Slow the fuck down."

She seemed to be battling something within herself for a few seconds, her hands clenching and unclenching, until she eventually nodded and sighed, her posture relaxing.

"Look, I left home for a reason. I don't know why I've been talking about it so much- I guess seeing your own grave being dug in front of you makes a person nostalgic. Just- don't push me. I'm just Sparrow- I'm still that dirt-covered, dusty girl who runs real fast and sometimes lets her mouth get her into trouble. And I'll still make that jump if I get cornered. But I've also been shot and left for dead, brutally murdered for all checkered suit- Benny- knows. It's been different since I woke up- I feel like I've been given another chance. I don't know why or for what, but hell if I'm going to fuck it up this time. I don't want to invite bad things by ignoring who I am- or turning back into who I was."

As she spoke, the entire world was bathed in a copper light, the setting sun turning the desert red. Her eyes glowed for a moment, and a fleeting image of a word crossed his mind as she smiled at him, the fiery light giving her a cruel but beautiful edge. And then the moment passed, and she was simply Sparrow again, dusty from the travels and completely human.

She took his silence for agreement, and began to walk again. He found himself haunted by the visage of her in the setting sun and wasn't shaken out of it until she saw her stumble. Quietly, he caught her elbow and pointed towards a huge concrete structure- leftovers from a highway built long ago. She nodded, and they half-blindly walked towards it in the near pitch dark. He made her sit down as he unpacked their camping supplies, and when he turned back, she was already asleep, oddly reclined against the side of the concrete.

As Boone pulled a blanket over her, he examined her face. In the darkness, he couldn't tell much, but her pipboy light have been left on and he could see how strained her features were, almost gaunt, and realized that a lot of her behavior was probably bravado. Silently vowing not to let her push herself so hard again, he sat back, though not before cupping her cheek in one hand. Her skin was warm in the cool night air, and her breath sent a feathery tickle across his calloused palm. He was mesmerized and didn't move when her eyes fluttered open.

"… Boone?" She asked sleepily, groggy confusion clouding her tone.

Guiltily, he stepped back. "Your damned pipboy is lighted up. Turn it off or we'll get ambushed by bloatflies or cazodores," he grumbled, his voice tense. What if she wanted to know why he was so close, why he was touching her, why-

Sparrow raised her arm to her face, and pressed a few buttons. Right before the display went dark, she looked at him and smiled so incredibly sweetly it shook him, a smile that only the half asleep can give. She mumbled something and he leaned forward to catch the tail end.

"… you too, Boone…"

He stared at the sleeping girl, wishing he had heard the entire thing, but at the same time hoping desperately that it wasn't what he thought it might have been. Cursing softly, he laid out his own bedroll and sat down, suddenly too weary to stand. He buried his head in hands and sat there, alone in the desert, and tried not to think about anything.

A light snerk had him raising his head and looking towards the girl. She was making the ridiculous sound in her sleep and he had to smile, just the tiniest bit. His smile faded as the image of her in the sunset came back to him, and he frowned, trying to think of the word that had eluded him. Just before he drifted off, it came to him.

_Not a sparrow. A Valkyrie._


	8. Chapter 8

_All right, an update. I'm not going to apologize for not updating- there's a ton of stuff going on and writing has, for necessity's sake, taken a back seat to everything. Hopefully, however, I'll be able to update on a weekly or bi-weekly basis from now on… and soon, if all goes according to plan, I'll be able to relax and take some me-time for a decent period, and I have no doubt that will involve writing a great deal._

_So… hope you enjoy (and don't hate me too much for the space in updating)._

_And please don__'t cry, Doctortrainwreck!_

* * *

Sparrow winced as she woke up with the dawn, her neck sore and back stiff from sleeping against the concrete. She blinked at their surroundings and tried to remember how they'd gotten there.

"Huh, must have been more tired than I thought," she mumbled, rubbing her neck.

Looking around, her gaze landed on Boone, his deep breathing indicating that he was still sleeping. She watched him for a few moments, incoherent and fuzzy thoughts circling in her head. Smirking, she bent over and picked up a pebble and threw it at him; her aim was true, and it hit him on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, sleepyhead! Upsy daisy!"

The sniper woke up with a start, reaching for his rifle before checking himself. His glare quickly turned into a frown, and she tilted her head in question.

"I fell asleep," he said, even more taciturn than usual.

"Yea, so did I," she replied, frowning in return.

"You were walking exhaustion. I should have kept watch."

Sparrow blinked, and realized that it had seemed rather unusual to see him sleeping.  
"Heh. You were tired too."

"It was irresponsible of me," Boone answered, his voice sounding like it was miles away.

"Uh, hey, we're still alive," she replied, and when he didn't acknowledge her, she stepped up to him and waved her hand in front of his face. "Hello? Relax."

Boone blinked and looked at her, his expression changing minutely. She narrowed her eyes, challenging him- what the hell was his problem?

Sparrow stared the sniper down, or at least tried to before sand was blown into her eyes and she had to blink tears away. When she felt like her eyes were no longer fire, she looked up to see Boone watching her, and when he saw she wasn't blinking anymore, he shrugged and began to brush dirt off of his armor. Sparrow rolled her eyes and began to look around for debris to make a campfire with.

* * *

"What. The. FUCK!" Sparrow cursed vividly, rubbing a forming bruising on her shoulder. "Never thought I'd say Reno was better than New Vegas- sure, it was bad, but at least the killing went on behind closed doors!"

Boone checked the area they were in before slinging his rifle back onto his back. When his companion didn't stop cursing, he sighed and turned to her.  
"This isn't really part of New Vegas. This is Freeside. Did you think the bodyguards at the front were there for decoration?"

"No! Yes. Maybe. I don't know! I didn't expect to be _ambushed_ by crazy, crowbar wielding men certainly!"

The sniper watched his companion glare around the dusty streets, as if Freeside itself had tried to take her life, not just a few scavengers who'd gotten tired of waiting patiently for the dead. He listened to her curses dwindling and sighed. He shook his head; as soon as he thought he was beginning to understand her, she'd do something unexpected and uncalled for. They'd been traveling the entire day, New Vegas looming over the most of the sky, and had entered the outer gates just a few minutes before. Everyone and their sister knew that Freeside was a bad place; that's why the soldiers took the metro line in. Which reminded him…

"Camp McCarran is nearby. We can stay the night there, unless you really want to get a room here," Boone offered gruffly.

Sparrow looked at him in surprise and then nodded assent.  
"That sounds… good. I don't like this place, and I think I'd be too busy waiting for some suicidal person to try and kill and me to sleep much. First though, I think I want to go check up on someone- do you know where the Crimson Caravan headquarters are?"

Boone blinked in surprise. She had never mentioned knowing anyone on or near the strip until now. Instead of answering, he pointed the correct direction, and found himself more annoyed than usual when she rolled her eyes at him. As they took off towards the caravan area, he wondered who she was checking up on.

_She didn't say it was a friend. Maybe it's someone who's got ties to Benny- in which case, they're definitely not friends. But she'd tell me if a fire fight was expected. Probably. Maybe._

The closer they got to the headquarters, the more Boone found himself getting… nervous? Surely that wasn't right. Still, he found himself expecting the worse, and was mildly surprised when they entered the compound without any sort of commotion. He watched the girl stop and look around, and when he saw her shoulders go back and chin raise, he automatically began to reach for his gun. It wasn't until she raised her hand to wave that he realized that he'd perhaps mistaken the situation.

Boone slowly followed as Sparrow walked towards a man leaning against one of the buildings. The man in question stood up straight and waved in return, a smile showing startlingly white teeth against his tanned, dusty face. Boone recognized him as a caravaner by his clothes. Although he no longer felt threatened by harm, Boone felt himself clenching his jaw as Sparrow and the trader hugged. He heard her laugh, soft and musical, and ground his teeth together. It took him a moment to realize he still felt threatened- they'd been travelling together for a while, shed blood together even, so that seeing anyone else close to her made him cautious. It was just that he didn't know this other person, his history or motives, that he felt uncomfortable- it was just over protectiveness, certainly not jealously that made him want to punch the stranger for touching Sparrow, and certainly had nothing to do with anything said the other night…

"…Boone?"

He raised his eyes to see Sparrow looking at him curiously, and he realized she must have been trying to get his attention before.

"Been out in the desert for awhile, eh man?" the stranger asked.

While Boone considered whether he was being mocked or not, Sparrow answered for him, "yea, we came here straight from Boulder City. I drove us pretty hard, but I wanted to get to the city. Ah… I found some information on the man who shot me."

Boone frowned minutely. Surely she didn't think it was a good idea to just go sharing that kind of information with some leather-faced trader who'd probably sell out his own family for the right amount of caps-

"Oh! I'm sorry, I completely forgot. Boone, this is Ringo. Ringo, Boone. I met Boone in Novac, and we've been traveling together since; he's a crack shot and has already saved my life more times than I can count." Sparrow chimed brightly, flashing a bright smile back at the sniper.

Boone continued to glare as Ringo smiled politely and stuck out his hand in greeting.  
"I somehow doubt that, Sparrow. I remember how you took down most of the Power Gangers at Goodsprings. But still, high praise! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Boone. Sparrow here helped me keep my hide free of bullet holes back in Goodsprings."

The sniper ignored his hand and merely nodded his head in greeting. So, they'd met shortly after Sparrow had been shot. Didn't mean anything- it's not like they had spent much time together. But he was a man, and he recognized the look in men's eyes when they were admiring more than a woman's fighting skills… was she laughing _again_!

Sparrow's voice was teasing, friendly. "Uhuh. I still remember how you said you didn't have any caps. You'd better pay up now!"

"Yes, well, I'll do that and raise you one," Ringo replied. "How about I introduce you to Alice McLafferty? She's in charge of Crimson Caravan, and I know she's looking for some freelance type of work. And you can tell me all about your adventures… I heard rumor that someone kicked the Powder Gangers out of Primm. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you?

"That sounds good, and I have no idea what you're talking about," Sparrow smiled, and then turned back to Boone. "Could you sell of our stuff while I'm talking to this McLafferty person? And then we can head to Camp McCarren for the night."

Boone muttered something in response and glared as the girl turned and smiled again at Ringo. He continued glaring after them until they went inside a building, and then went to the general trader. His bad mood only got worse when _that_ trader asked him if Sparrow had really done all those things that Ringo liked to talk about. All in all, he decided, Crimson Caravan needed to mind their own business and keep their business far away from his… companion.

* * *

Sparrow sat on a cot in one of the empty tents at McCarren. It was evening, and while she'd learned that she could have had a bed at the Atomic Wrangler, in truth a cot could be compared to a feather bed after sleeping on the hard ground for over a week. She stretched with a moan, and was working out a cramp in her shoulder when Boone came in. While it was hard to tell, she thought she'd been traveling with him long enough to tell he was in a bad mood, and not just being quiet.

"So…" she started, "First Recon seems like a pretty interesting group of people. Corporal Betsy seems pretty fond of me…"

Boone ignored her and sat down on a cot on the other side of the tent and began to take off his boots.

"Okay…. I was thinking about going after one of the Fiend leaders tomorrow? Or maybe taking a look at the Gun Runner's factory for McLafferty?

At this, the sniper paused for a moment before continuing wrestling with his boots."

"Or how about taking a look at that vault? That seems interesting. Or selling myself out at the Wrangler? That seems like a hoot. What do you think; think I could make a few extra caps on the side?"

Boone didn't even look up as he replied. "I doubt it. Most patrons in Freeside wouldn't want to mess with Crimson Caravan's favoured whore."

Sparrow's mouth dropped open. "What are you talking about?"

When Boone continued to ignore her, she stood up and walked over to him. She waved her hand in front of his face, and jumped when he reached out and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. He finally looked at her, his gaze as steely as it had been that first evening in Novac.

"I am talking about that trader, Ringo. He has… made a clear claim on you. I presume that includes your body. I doubt your prostitution would appeal to him."

"What! No! We're not even friends. He's just someone I know-"

Boone's sharp reply cut her off, "if you are not even friends, then he is not aware of this. And you didn't exactly hold yourself off when you saw him today."

She stared at him in shock, unable to form a reply, but Boone narrowed his eyes and continued.

"You even told him about Benny, just volunteered that information. Are you not aware that Benny is a powerhouse in New Vegas? That he practically owns the Tops casino? Are you really so foolish that you think you can just walk around and trust almost perfect strangers that you're hunting for the most powerful man in the city?"

Sparrow couldn't make her mind work. She felt pricks in her eyes, and tried to be angry to make tears go away, but Boone was still talking.

"Perhaps you are fine with just foolishly walking into Freeside without your gun ready. Perhaps you are fine with inviting Benny to have his goons take you out. I am not fine with that. You promised to help me kill Caesar's soldiers. Ringo has been going around the caravan headquarters talking about you as if he knows you, is with you- the general merchant acted like he had the right to share you. If you want to be a caravan whore, do it on your own time- don't waste mine."

Sparrow stood still as stone as Boone hissed out the last bit.

"I… it's not like that," she whispered.

"Did you ask him to travel with you?"

"Yes, but-"

"So you just asked various men until you found one who was sucker enough to join up with you?"

"No!"

"…"

Sparrow glared at him, her wrist still caught in his hand.

"You don't know! You don't know what it was like! _I was left for dead!_ I didn't ask anyone else other than you after Ringo, and I only asked him because he lost his caravan and he didn't have anyone else-"

"Like me?"

The sniper's quiet question made Sparrow stop mid-rant._  
Oh. I'm an idiot._

When her wrist was released, she realized that Boone must have taken her sudden silence as agreement. She sat down next to him on his cot, and hung her head in her hands.

"I never felt sorry for you. I was angry when I read about Carla. I was relieved when you killed Jeannie. And I asked you to join me before I knew what I was feeling, but I think I know now. I think it was kinship- I had been left for dead, and you had left yourself for dead. You drive me crazy sometimes, and sometimes I want to break your nose on purpose, but I've never felt sorry for you. I felt sorry for Ringo, but nothing else. And I am certainly not _his _anything, friend or otherwise."

With a deep sigh, she leaned over slightly and rested her head on Boone's shoulder, not looking at him. She felt drained and empty, and didn't care enough to move when she felt Boone stiffen at their contact.

"Okay," was the only word Boone said a few minutes later, and then she felt the muscles in his arm and shoulders relax.

"Okay," she replied, and stood up. "I think I want to do the vault tomorrow."

As she lay down in her cot and pulled up a sheet- a real canvas sheet, not a holey and musty blanket, she sighed softly and finally felt the cramp in her own shoulder give way. Slowly, as she drifted to sleep, listening to Boone's steady breathing from across the tent, memories flittered in from the previous night, when they were walking to New Vegas.

_Walking. Don't stop. Must get away, must get to New Vegas. To Benny._

_Pointing to an object, a comforting masculine voice saying "rest" and "shelter." No rest, no shelter, nothing- have to get away._

_Exhaustion. Relaxation. Movement stopping._

_Warmth. Kindness. Gratitude. Love._

…

_Oh shit, love? Did she seriously say- shit._


	9. Chapter 9

_I hated this quest. Seriously. Creeped the hell out of me. Stupid plants._

* * *

Boone and Sparrow cautiously walked into the canyon, the air somehow smelling fresher with every step. Sparrow went first, and when she stopped suddenly, Boone almost ran into her. He was about to tell her off when a flash of green caught his eye, and then he joined the girl in staring, slack jawed, at the scene in front of him.

"I… it's so… it's all _alive_," Sparrow whispered reverently.

Silently, the pair walked forward until their boots were hidden by the plants. They paused briefly beside a sign, but then continued.

"Movement," Boone muttered, swinging his rifle off of his back.

Both man and woman had their weapons trained on the miniature jungle before them, tracking a small bump moving near to the ground. Boone gritted his teeth, began to squeeze the trigger- and missed his shot as the bump suddenly jumped high out of the undergrowth, revealing it to be a simple mantis. Sparrow moved in smoothly and took it down, and Boone sighed deeply while replacing his rifle with his machete. The duo took out the rest of mantises and soon found them at the overgrown entrance to Vault 22. The sniper rested against a support began to clean mutated arthropod goo off his blade and saw Sparrow watching him, her eyebrow raised. He felt a headache coming on when she grinned mischievously at him.

"What, is the big bad sniper afraid of a widdle gween mantis?"

"Shut up."

* * *

They had been in the vault for at least 15 minutes and Sparrow was already getting really sick of it. The novelty of being surrounded by living plants was wearing off, and she decided that it was more than vaguely creepy. As she got tripped again by a loose tendril of some vine or another, she cursed loudly, her voice echoing down the metal corridor.

"What, the little bratty kid afraid of some ivy?"

Sparrow whipped her head around and glared at her companion. His eyes were narrowed, challenging her, and in response she stuck her tongue out at him.

"It's just this place. It's so damn quiet. And green. And why is it so hot and sticky! I've never felt anything like this before."

She fanned her face as she spoke, small beads of perspiration running down her forehead and into the hollow of her neck. She noticed she was not the only one suffering- Boone's shirt was soaked through in places, sculpting itself to his well-defined chest...

Sparrow groaned at her thought process, cursed again, and dropped the pack. It wasn't until she was almost done peeling off her leather armor that she peeked up at the sniper, who was watching her expressionlessly. Feeling surprisingly self conscious, she dug through her pack, quickly changed into her fatigues and retied a bandanna around her hair, trying to keep her neck bare.

"Getting hot?" Boone's voice was more dour than usual, but she thought she heard a hint of amusement.

"Well, I'm soaked through and through. Here, hold the pack open and help me pack the armor up so we can move on."

They worked quickly and efficiently, and she tried not to shiver when Boone helped her put the pack on, the backs of his fingers brushing over her bare shoulders.

She took a moment to consult her pipboy, feeling better that she knew the way to quickly get back out in the familiar brown wasteland, squared her shoulders, and began to walk forward again. Boone followed her quietly, the sound of his footsteps blanketed by all the foliage.

They were entering the second level, and Sparrow found her nerves strung tight- the tiniest sound was making her pulse race. It was so quiet that she could hear her companion's breathing. They hadn't run into anything but a few mantises, but it was doing anything but calming her. There was a scraping noise behind her, and she whirled around, her pistol raised-

"Hey. Calm down, or we'll see how you like being in the crosshairs" Boone admonished her, adjusting his rifle- it had scraped against the vault wall, causing the noise.

"Sorry. Sorry. This place- it's giving me the creeps!"

To her surprise, Boone nodded in agreement. "I admit, this vault makes me… uneasy. A few mantises would not have chased out all the people or other wildlife." He looked over her, at the corridor laid out before. "Would you like me to take point?"

Everything in Sparrow's body screamed "Yes!" but she shook her head slowly. "No, you're better at a distance, plus you're taller than me- you can just shoot over my head. I still don't like this though."

* * *

Boone had just chopped down a flower and was now watching his partner.

"I really don't like this place!" she exclaimed, wiping some kind of brown muck off of her pants. "I may not know much about plants and crap, but I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to try and _kill_ you! Or spit stuff at you!"

Boone thought about making a sarcastic comment, but resisted. Although he wouldn't vocalize it, he too was deeply disturbed by the vault. He found himself thinking of Carla, how she loved flowers, and smirked when he thought about bringing her a bundle of angry, spitting Vault 22 plants in a bouquet. Tied with a ribbon of course…

"What's so funny?"

Sparrow's voice cut through his half memory/half daydream, and he shook his head.

"Nothing. Thinking about flowers. Carla liked them."

"I _hate_ flowers now. And I bet she'd share my opinion if she was here!"

Boone shrugged again, and soon they were destroying more flora, now taking pot shots from a distance. He was brooding; he hadn't meant to talk about Carla, and he wasn't sure what bothered him more- the fact that he had mentioned her in casual conversation, or the fact that the courier had vocalized almost his exact thoughts about his late wife. He no longer thought about Carla all the time, and when his thoughts did cross her in passing, they weren't accompanied in unbearable pain.

The girl had found a computer and was sitting down to read any information. Boone, although in much better shape than when he had first started travelling with her, was grateful for the respite. The vault was incredibly warm, which in itself would not be so bad, but it was also extremely wet- it felt like they'd been walking through a blanket of water vapor and heat. He pulled a bottle of water out and poured some down his throat, relishing the cool feeling. A muttered voice pulled his eyes back to his companion- she was still at the console, her chin resting in her hand, fixated on whatever was lighting up the screen.

If he was honest with himself, he was damn impressed with how the girl handled herself. They'd been travelling together for over two months, and he found himself unconsciously matching his stride to hers, or helping her before she asked, as he had with the pack earlier. He was far past embarrassment when she undressed in front of him now, and so he had watched her peel off the armor in mild amusement. Her face had streaks of dirt on it, dust that had collected in the rivulets of sweat, and her hair had ceased to be a fluffy, tangled mess, and was instead laying flat on her head. And he thought he had become mostly immune to her body, her _femaleness_, in the weeks since they had walked to New Vegas, but he hadn't been prepared.

As she stripped off the jacket that served as the top half of her armor, he had sucked in his breath. Her undershirt was soaked with sweat, and it clung to her, outlining her breasts in a way that left practically nothing to the imagination. When her pants followed, her shorts also clung to her, accenting her hips and the secret "V" at the apex of her thighs. Her skin was shiny, and when she looked up at him, her lips were softly parted in relief. Her bandanna had been pulled off in the struggle to free herself of her armor, and her hair, the color of dark, ashy silver in the dim lights of the vault, framed her face. He was unable to tear his eyes from her, feasting on the barely clothed outline of her body as a starved man would in sight of food…

Realizing he was on extremely dangerous ground but still unable to look away, Boone waited until she was finished changing, and then asked her, more sarcastically than he had intended, "getting hot?" He could only hope that she didn't notice his immediate physical response to her reply, and when he helped her replace the pack on her back, he felt electrified when he let his knuckles brush against her shoulders, slick and smooth.

"Hey, Boone, over here!"

Boone startled, and then took off after Sparrow, who was rounding a corner. More plants, but at least they weren't attacking. He found his eyes straying down Sparrow's backside- her fatigues fit her a little better than most people- and so was unprepared when the girl shouted and back-pedalled into his chest. He automatically reached out to steady her when he saw had caused her to stumble- a thing, suspiciously humanoid, was rising out of the plant matter. He still hadn't quite registered when Sparrow fired into it multiple times with her pistol, knocking it down. They stared at it, not moving for a moment, Sparrow breathing hard, his arm still curled around her waist.

It took only a split second for Boone to get a full grasp, and he embarrassedly let go of the girl and stepped around her to examine the creature.

"Looks like a plant-person thing."

She kneeled down next to him and touched it with shaky fingers. "I think I know what happened to the original inhabitants of the vault. And why there isn't wildlife."

He looked up and met her wide eyes. He recognized her fear, something he hadn't seen since that first day in the REPCONN test facility, and fought back the urge to try and comfort her. He wasn't a goddamn saint or bodyguard. He began to feel angry and stood up abruptly, not offering her a hand.

"Come on. Let's finish this and get out of here."

"I… all right. Yes." Sparrow stood up and looked around. "I really, _really_ don't like this place."

They made their way through the vault, slowly, both of their nerves getting more and more frayed. Boone was careful not to indulge any thoughts about his companion, and was angry at himself for ever doing so. By the time they found Keely, he full of furious energy, and had snapped at the ghoul. Sparrow grabbed his arm and pulled down the hallway before turning on him, her eyes flashing.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"She's sending us on a suicide mission. How are we supposed to blow the place up without frying ourselves?"

"It's not any worse than other crap we've been asked to do by your precious NCR!"

"Don't you dare even go there!"

They glared at each other, one tall and menacing, and the other a little shorter and radiating fury. Then, Sparrow sighed and leaned heavily against the wall, her shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry. It's this place. I really do hate it. There shouldn't be so much damned green everywhere. And it's so fucking hot!"

Boone opened his mouth to say something sharp, and then closed it. He couldn't remember a time when his companion had voluntarily backed down from a fight, but she looked utterly exhausted right now. He felt his own anger ebbing away and held out his hand.

"Peace?"

She looked at him gratefully and shook it. "Peace. Now, can we blow up this joint so we can blow this joint, please?"

* * *

Sparrow watched as Boone tested the door to the server room.

"Seems solid. If we can close this, we should, in theory, be safe from the flames. It will get hot as hell though, and we won't be able to touch the door for a while after." The sniper looked up at her, obviously dissatisfied.

"In theory, huh?" Sparrow sighed and ran her hand through her hair. She felt light headed, though she couldn't tell if that was an effect of the adrenaline that had been pumping through her system for the past five hours or the gas that flooded this level of the vault. "Fine. You stand here, ready to close the door. I'll throw the grenade."

Boone narrowed his eyes, but Sparrow chose to ignore him. They had discussed the best way to ignite the gas, but this seemed like the least likely to roast them both. They had argued over if they both had to be present, and if not, who should stay on a different level- but in the end, they were both breathing in gas, about to do possibly one of the stupidest things they'd ever done.

She took out a grenade and sighed, running her fingers over its bumpy exterior. "Ready?"

"You'd better be as good a shot with your throwing arm- the last thing we need is that grenade ricocheting off a wall and exploding near us," Boone grumbled, getting into position.

Sparrow threw the grenade as hard as she dared- her aim was slightly off, but it bounced down the hallway. They were supposed to have more time, but it went off early, and she felt the heat as the flames roared towards her-

And then she was falling backwards. Everything seemed in slow motion, the door not quite latching and instead being blown back open by a wall of fire, her world shifting as the over-heated wind blew into the room, flames licking at the ceiling, landing on something that, while not soft, was certainly not a hard metal floor either-

With a gasp, she felt herself being rolled over, and suddenly the looming figure of Craig Boone was leaning over her. She stared up into his face in shock, vaguely realizing that he must have pulled her into the room and away from the fire, and that it was awfully warm. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew it was inappropriate, but she found herself intensely aware of how his body was pressed against hers, how her thighs were pressed against his, his strong arms just supporting himself above her body… For a moment she thought she must have been hit by the fire because she was burning up, heat pooling throughout her body, and Boone was running one of his hands over her hair, cupping her cheek, and he was close enough she could see each individual hair on his chin, the flecks of colors in his irises, and the soft brush of his breath as he whispered her name.


End file.
